


The Book of Love

by Twigo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Bottom Germany (Hetalia), Drama, F/M, Historical, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 83,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twigo/pseuds/Twigo
Summary: AU. A collection of Germany-centric one shots and drabbles and whatnot, as they come and go. Many pairings and settings and ratings.  But all very bottom!Germany.(Helpful at-a-glance pairing guide : Ch. 1 : RomGer, Ch. 2 : AmeGer, Ch. 3 : FinGer, Ch. 4 : AmeGer, Ch. 5 : FraGer, Ch. 6 : RomGer, Ch. 7 : DenGer, Ch. 8 : PolGer, Ch. 9 : SweGer, Ch. 10 : RusGer, GerFem!Ita, Ch. 11 : ItaGer, Ch. 12 : PruGer, Ch. 13 : RusGer)
Relationships: America/Germany (Hetalia), Austria/Germany (Hetalia), Belarus/Germany (Hetalia), Denmark/Germany (Hetalia), England/Germany (Hetalia), Finland/Germany (Hetalia), France/Germany (Hetalia), Germany/Female North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/Hungary (Hetalia), Germany/Netherlands (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/Norway (Hetalia), Germany/Poland (Hetalia), Germany/Prussia (Hetalia), Germany/Russia (Hetalia), Germany/South Italy (Hetalia), Germany/Spain (Hetalia), Germany/Sweden (Hetalia)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 161





	1. LUNA (RomGer)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [相合](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950796) by [shafufus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafufus/pseuds/shafufus)



> A/N : Just a collection of one-shots and drabbles that I didn't feel were substantial enough to warrant their own dedicated titles.
> 
> Warnings! : Lots of pairings, and many genres and ratings. M is the standard for me, though. Some of these will be happy, some will be soul-crushing (because you guys know me by now, right?), some could be very silly. Etc. Each story will get its own detailed warning section, of course. And, of course, to those of you who may not know, my Germany is ALWAYS the bottom. Like, even with the chicks. (that's only a slight exaggeration) 
> 
> ALSO : my characters aren't really based so much on the Hetalia version of themselves (I legit only watched season one in 2011 and that is the extent of my knowledge of the show) so much on the stereotypes and mannerisms of the typical specimens of their countries, mostly through my personal experiences. 
> 
> So let's start out with some Romano x Germany, Italy x Germany, 'cause why not. Language, unfaithful partners, nothing particularly unpleasant, that aside.

**LUNA**

Feliciano and Lovino were polar opposites.

If Feliciano was day, then Lovino was night. The sun and the moon, always fighting against each other and always clashing. Feliciano thrived in daylight, loved the sunshine, loved blue skies and a clear horizon, loved the golden rays of daylight hitting the ground. Lovino flourished in the night, loved the sight of the moon on high, the stars against the black of space, the cool air and the clouds when they came, lighting up white for the moon they obscured.

They were fraternal twins, always connected and yet entirely unique. Lovino had been born first, and so that made him the older brother, if only by half an hour, and somehow, in someway, Feliciano had always been treated as the younger child and spoiled accordingly. They had never really seen eye to eye, since they had been children. Had always seemed to stand on opposite sides.

Feliciano never could understand Lovino, and that sentiment was mutual, and above all else Feliciano could never grasp Lovino's love of nighttime.

Lovino could never really just go up to Feliciano, after all, and say, 'I love the night so much because that's the only time I get to be with the person I love.'

Could never say that, of course, considering that the person he loved happened to be Feliciano's fiancé.

It had been an accident at first, because naturally the first line of defense for everyone caught in that situation was to say, 'It was an accident!'

'I didn't mean to, it just happened.'

It may have been an accident on Ludwig's part, but it hadn't been on Lovino's, had he ever allowed himself to be truthful. Had never been an accident, and hadn't just 'happened', nor had Lovino just 'never meant to'. Ludwig had been drunk, Lovino hadn't been, and what had happened had happened.

And really, the worst part of it all perhaps was that it had happened the night that Feliciano had proposed to Ludwig. Damn—he couldn't really get much worse than that, and surely he must have been the evil twin.

That night.

Lovino had known all about it, because Feliciano had been prattling about it endlessly to Lovino for weeks, and Lovino had hated every damn second of it because he had fallen for Ludwig not long after Feliciano had brought him into their lives.

Pitiful, being silently in love with his brother's man for five years, pining from afar and unwilling to let it go.

When Feliciano had showed Lovino the ring and told him his plans, Lovino had gone out to the pier on the lake, far below the house that he and Feliciano had inherited from their grandfather. He had plopped down there on the wood and buried his face in his arms and struggled not to cry, pathetic as it was. So stupid, fallin' in love with someone that belonged to someone else.

So Lovino just watched as he always had, and then that day had come, and Lovino found himself wandering down yet again to the pier, to stare at the moon and mourn silently. He just hadn't expected Ludwig to already be there, sitting with his knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them. Feliciano hadn't been there, and it was very, very late. Well past midnight.

Lovino fell still there at the top of the grassy slope, and hesitated. Didn't really want to go down there if he wasn't alone, and it was rather strange, wasn't it, that Ludwig was out there without Feliciano, after such an important day.

He had spent the entire day out in the city, knowing that Feliciano wanted privacy, and so was rather in the dark as to what had gone down. Wondered how Feliciano had done it. Where was he? The hell was Ludwig doing out there all alone?

Oh—

An awful, burning pang of hope, cruel though it was, and Lovino inhaled and felt the rush of adrenaline. Maybe it had gone wrong, and maybe Ludwig had refused. Maybe it had been too soon or too serious, and he had declined.

It was that notion that led Lovino at last down the hill and to the pier, and if Ludwig heard him coming over then he didn't look up, face buried in his knees. He didn't look up at all, actually, even when Lovino sat down there beside of him, legs crossed and staring over expectantly.

Was afraid to ask, but wanted to know.

After a silence, Lovino finally uttered, "Hey."

A deep inhale, and Ludwig lifted his head, turning it to Lovino, and there was a rather bleary search before Ludwig's red eyes settled on him.

Oh, damn! Had he been crying?

There was that awful hope, rising ever more.

"You alright?" he managed to ask, as Ludwig stared at him, pale irises lit up silver in the moonlight. Loved those eyes, so much, the prettiest things he had ever seen, Ludwig's eyes.

Ludwig sat up straight, stretched his legs out and rested his arms at his sides, and finally said, in a slur, "Yeah. I guess."

Lovino realized how drunk Ludwig was in that second, and scooted closer to him, just in case he decided to move too quickly and toppled right into the water. Couldn't let the dumb bastard drown, after all.

"You don't look alright," Lovino said, and yet his hopes were very cruelly dashed then when a glint of light caught his eye, and he glanced down. On Ludwig's finger sat Feliciano's lovely, specially made ring, and Lovino was pretty sure he felt his heart break a little, sad as it was.

Had accepted, after all.

So why did he look so miserable?

Ludwig just sat there, propped up on his palms, unfocused eyes sweeping over the lake, cheeks red and hair loose, whipping in the breeze. Ludwig was beautiful, always had been, and Lovino turned his eyes up briefly to the moon.

Shoulda known, really. Feliciano was handsome and charming. So funny. Optimistic and cheery, bright, friendly and always affectionate. Lovino had never stood a chance, from the day they were born. Lovino was no doubt considered handsome by some, in his own gruff way, but how he looked made no never mind when Feliciano outshined him personality wise in such a dramatic way.

Lovino was in love with Ludwig, and yet had never once treated him very kindly. Had always berated him for something or another, teased him always, sometimes perhaps a bit cruelly, had made fun of Ludwig from time to time, often said things that no doubt hurt Ludwig's feelings and made him feel emasculated or vulnerable.

He did it _because_ he loved Ludwig, and so he lashed out at him so that Ludwig would never get too close to him, would never really want to be around him. That made it easier for Lovino, to keep it that way. If ever Ludwig had really wanted to be his friend, it would have been so much more painful.

Yet, for it all, Ludwig had always been polite and kind to Lovino, had never lashed back, had never retorted, and always just accepted whatever Lovino threw at him so quietly. Never lifted his hand in his own defense.

Feliciano and Ludwig were lovely together, in every possible way, and Lovino was far too aware of that.

The waves lapped gently at the pier, the tethered boat sloshing about with them, and Ludwig suddenly gave a very rough, breaking laugh that sounded more like a sob, and he sat up, leaned forward, twisted his head in Lovino's direction, and said, his voice far too thick, "Will you take me out on the lake?"

Dumbly, caught up in that silent grief, Lovino could only nod his head.

Couldn't even lash out at Ludwig then, couldn't make fun of him. Just didn't have the heart in that moment, seeing him like that. Hearing that trembling voice, as if Ludwig were trying so hard not to burst into tears.

He stood up, and extended his hand to Ludwig. Ludwig seemed quite shocked but accepted it without question. When Lovino pulled Ludwig to his feet he stumbled, and Lovino was quick to catch him. Feeling Ludwig pressed up like that against him, though—ah, how that hurt.

He led drunk Ludwig to the boat, very carefully helped him step into it, and glanced briefly over his shoulder to the house. Nothing stirred; Feliciano must have been passed out.

He hopped in, took the keys from the box, and Ludwig lied down on his back on the deck rather than sitting, staring up at the sky and lips pursed. Lovino really hoped, as he turned the ignition and started out, that Ludwig didn't start crying, because he wouldn't know what to do in that situation. Wasn't good at this kinda stuff, and didn't even know what the hell was wrong with Ludwig, when he clearly had accepted Feliciano's proposal.

Ludwig stayed silent the entire while Lovino steered the boat, and when they were out in the middle of the lake, the shore far away on every side, Lovino cut the ignition and walked over to Ludwig, sitting himself down on the seat and staring away at him.

Ludwig didn't really acknowledge him, just following stars with his bleary eyes.

The air was cool, the sky was clear, the stars bright and numerous. The leaves of the trees were beginning to change color, and the scent of them mingled with the water. It was a perfect night, really, and here Ludwig was on this boat, a ring on his finger and looking distraught.

Wished he hadn't really seen this, honestly.

Lovino was moving out soon, so soon. After all, this would become Feliciano's marital home, and Lovino couldn't stay there like that, looking at the person he wanted and couldn't have. A few more weeks, and he was gone. Maybe then he could have forgotten about Ludwig. So why did this have to happen now? By all rights, Ludwig should have been so _happy_.

Should have only looked like that had he rejected the offer.

Ludwig seemed in no rush to make conversation, so Lovino hunkered down, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees, and he finally asked, "So what the hell's the matter with you? You should be happy, shouldn't ya?"

Ludwig lifted his hand clumsily into the air, turning it this way and that in the moonlight, observing his new ring silently, and then his arm flopped back down to the deck like deadweight as Ludwig sighed, tiredly.

"Yeah," he finally uttered, deep voice rough and low. "Guess I should be."

Lovino watched him, expectantly, but drunk Ludwig clearly needed some prodding, as usual, so Lovino led the conversation, trying, so carefully, "But you're not?"

"I don't know."

Lovino scoffed, and stated, "That means 'no'. It's an engagement, either you're happy or you're not. There's no middle ground."

A long silence, and then Ludwig said, strangely, "I'm sorry. I want to be happy. I'm trying. I just..."

"You didn't want to? You don't want to marry him?"

Hoped his voice wasn't too eager.

As if it mattered, because Ludwig was far too drunk to even keep his gaze focused, let alone pick up on different tones in Lovino's voice.

Inebriated Ludwig was a bit more open than the sober one, because the sober one would never have been able to sigh then, and say, so softly, "No."

Oh, god, Lovino coulda dropped dead then, he swore it, from that elation he felt. That stupid, thin hope he was clinging to, that incredible sense of disbelief and excitement. For all it mattered; Ludwig getting cold feet meant nothing for Lovino, because Lovino was an asshole to Ludwig and there was no chance in hell that Ludwig would have ever given Lovino the time of day. Ludwig could have had anyone he wanted, because Ludwig was truly perfect as far as Lovino's tastes went; tall, blond, handsome, well-built, and above all else a good person. That last one in particular was the real selling point.

Lovino didn't stand a chance.

All the same, he felt excited regardless, and quickly asked, more harshly than he meant to, "Then why the hell did you say yes, you big fuckin' idiot? Are you stupid or what?"

Too drunk to be offended maybe, Ludwig just gave a short, quivering laugh, and then closed his eyes.

"Yeah. Guess so. I didn't want— How could I have said no? It woulda broken his heart. He's the best guy. I don't know what's wrong with me. He's everything I ever wanted, but I just don't think I love him like he loves me."

Fuckin' Christ!

Ludwig was so damn stupid, so stupid.

"You're too goddamn nice," Lovino griped, angrily, staring down at Ludwig, lit up beautiful in the moonlight.

That had been the first thing Lovino had really noticed about Ludwig. The very first day they had met, Lovino had been so sure that Ludwig was a hard-ass, stern and harsh, because that was the impression his strict face gave off. And Ludwig was stern, yeah, was very serious and very stoic, but honest to god Ludwig was the nicest guy Lovino had ever met. Had such a misleading air about him, resting bitch-face he supposed, to be catty about it. Had taken just one meeting with Ludwig to see how good a guy he was. Feliciano was loving and warm to the world, and Ludwig's kindness was different, but just as potent. Ludwig was quiet and strict, a bit guarded and cool, but was no less kind than Feliciano. He just couldn't express it as well, but anyone who bothered talking to him could so easily pick up on it.

Lovino had always found Ludwig _too_ nice. At least Feliciano could put his foot down and assert himself very vociferously, but Ludwig usually just folded very quietly to the whims of others, doing as he was told, as if he were performing some duty. Ludwig was strict alright, but seemed the most strict of all with himself, and put others before him.

Now look where it had gotten him.

Ludwig was silent, eyes glued to the moon, and Lovino heaved a sigh and rolled down onto the deck next to Ludwig, splaying out on his back and observing the stars.

What a damn mess.

A long, heavy silence, as they stared at the sky in unison, and then Lovino finally asked, gruffly, "So what are you gonna do?"

Ludwig didn't answer immediately. Lovino had turned his head to stare at him, because Ludwig was prettier than the moon was and far more hypnotic. Ludwig eventually turned his head, too, meeting Lovino's gaze, and what he said then had been nothing that Lovino had expected.

To say the least.

"You know. It's stupid, and I know it's not right, but I— I think I just stayed with him because I couldn't ever get you to like me. All those years, and I couldn't ever make you stop hating me, no matter what I did. I just gave up. He loves me, so I stayed with him. He sort of looks like you, a little. You have the same nose."

Ludwig immediately turned his head back straight, once more pinning his eyes to the moon as Lovino lied there breathless beside of him.

As an afterthought, as speechless Lovino attempted to process what he had heard, Ludwig laughed, roughly, and grumbled, "Don't tell him I said that, thanks."

But, hey, wait—that wasn't right! He had never hated Ludwig, never, had just been so damn mean to him because Ludwig had been with Feliciano, hadn't ever really wanted to hurt Ludwig's feelings so much as he felt that he _had_ to.

Lovino sat up, staring down at Ludwig in what was likely a stupid manner, mouth open and feeling as if the lake had suddenly turned into the ocean. Quite lost at sea, in a way. He tried to speak, and found that he just couldn't. His voice wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't come out, and so Lovino did then the only thing that seemed natural to him, the only thing he had ever wanted to do, the thing he had dreamt of.

He leaned over, pressed down, and kissed Ludwig.

It was Ludwig then who looked stunned, eyes flying wide open and inhaling very sharply, even against his intoxication.

Lovino pulled back as abruptly as he had pushed forward, sitting up straight and turning his eyes to the gentle waves on the lake. How marvelously surreal that had felt. How wonderful. Had wanted to do that for five years. Had never dreamed he would ever be able to.

Didn't know what to say, and apparently neither did Ludwig, because they sat there in silence for a very long time.

He fell into a bit of a trance, perhaps, following the waves with his eyes, the fall air comforting, and he only really came to when Ludwig had reached up and grabbed his arm. He offered no resistance at all when Ludwig pulled him down then atop him. Just fell right down on Ludwig's chest, as Ludwig was the one to crane his neck up and kiss Lovino.

And, well...

Ludwig was drunk and confused and an emotional wreck, overwhelmed and vulnerable, and Lovino had known that it wasn't right. Knew that in some way he was taking advantage of Ludwig in that moment, but hell, he was a shitty guy wasn't he, in love with his brother's man as he was, so why not just go all the way? Claim something he had always wanted.

Feliciano got everything; why couldn't he have something, just this once?

It wasn't right, but Lovino did it anyway.

Ludwig's hands were on his shoulders, and the next thing Lovino really knew he had pulled limp Ludwig up and yanked his shirt off, and then his own, as Ludwig clung helplessly to his shoulders, too damn drunk to even really move all that well.

With every motion he made, Lovino knew he was very much crossing the line of morality, but he charged on anyway. Couldn't just forget Ludwig's words, couldn't cast aside that feeling, and so it didn't matter much to Lovino how wrong or right it was; just mattered that Ludwig had said something he had apparently been hiding for years, and Lovino had hid that, too.

If they felt that way about each other, then Lovino didn't feel so bad about it.

He neatly cast Feliciano aside, and made love to Ludwig there on that boat under the moonlight, feeling needed and wanted for the first time in as long as he could remember, as Ludwig whispered away in his ear in that deep rumble that Lovino had always liked.

The best night of his life.

When he collapsed atop Ludwig, Ludwig ran his hands up Lovino's back, kissed his forehead, and drifted immediately into sleep, as Lovino listened to his heartbeat, the boat drifting about carelessly in the waves.

Had never really felt as comfortable as he did then, and very much regretted when the horizon began to lighten and tint pink.

Time to go.

He rolled off of Ludwig, who came into consciousness just long enough for Lovino to dress him, and he steered the boat back to shore. Ludwig was a deadweight by then, unable to really walk on his own and needing Lovino to lean against just to move. How he got Ludwig onto that pier without dropping him into the lake, Lovino could never really say.

He felt no guilt, none at all, not when Ludwig turned his head over and over again and kissed his cheek as Lovino hauled him with effort back to the house.

Feliciano was still passed out on the sofa when they came back inside at the break of dawn. Ludwig collapsed immediately upon the bed and fell into unconsciousness, and Lovino could really only wait until he woke up sober and see where they stood. How much Ludwig remembered, and, more importantly, if he was going to break Lovino's nose on the chance he did remember, for taking advantage of him.

Feliciano came to first, naturally, and Lovino watched with little shame as Feliciano floated about in an ecstatic daze, his proposal the night prior having been accepted, and his smile was bright and endless, no matter how hung-over and sick he was.

Ludwig slept the day away, and didn't awaken until the sun had set, and he came to then only to run to the bathroom and vomit. Feliciano laughed, but rubbed his back soothingly anyway, as a good partner would.

Lovino tapped his foot, anxiously, and waited.

A few hours later, Feliciano went to bed, and Lovino sat on the couch, flipping through channels on the television and anxiously glancing towards the bathroom, where Ludwig had barricaded himself, curled on the floor and nursing his nausea.

Just when Lovino was ready to call it a night, the door creaked open and Ludwig came tumbling out, pale and clammy and looking like hell. He made for the kitchen, started putting back glass after glass of water, and then he grabbed the orange juice out of the refrigerator and started chugging.

Lovino gathered up his nerve, walked up behind him, and leaned on the counter, propping himself up on his palms.

When Ludwig finished decimating the carton of juice, he turned his head to Lovino, looked him up and down, and then turned away. A crinkle of his brow and a pushing out of his lips, thoughtfully, as if Ludwig were trying to determine whether that had been real or a dream.

Lovino decided to make it easy for him and walked over, twisting Ludwig around until they were facing each other and then pulling the dazed bastard up against him in an embrace.

A coin toss, however, to see if Ludwig was going to punch him or not.

But Ludwig didn't punch him, and actually just slumped immediately against him in exhaustion, burying his face in Lovino's shoulder.

The thrill and happiness Lovino felt then had no description, nothing he had ever really felt before. Knowing that not only did Ludwig remember, but that he was still receptive and that what he had said hadn't merely been a drunken slip of the tongue.

A long moment of resting against each other, and then Ludwig moaned, into Lovino's collar, " _Oh_ —I wish you would have just said something years ago."

"Yeah," Lovino grumbled, clenching Ludwig for all he was worth, "Me too."

They stood there in the kitchen and embraced each other for what felt like hours, as Feliciano slept obliviously away.

After that, it had become an affair, and it may not have been his proudest moment, but Lovino didn't regret it at all. Wouldn't have taken it back for anything in the world.

Feliciano carried about his business, entirely and blissfully unaware that his fiancé and his twin were suddenly lovers. Shouldn't have been that way, no, and they both knew it was wrong.

Lovino tried hard to spur Ludwig on, to convince him to tell Feliciano that he just wasn't in love with him, that he didn't want to get married, that he didn't want to be with him anymore, but Ludwig always folded and choked. Was never able to say it, and kept putting it off.

Feliciano just never _noticed_ , never considered it, never once had it cross his mind, and maybe that was because he and Lovino didn't live together anymore and because Lovino had always been so rude to Ludwig.

Months passed. Then years.

Suddenly, Lovino and Ludwig had been seeing each other for two years, and Ludwig still hadn't told Feliciano.

They had fallen into a routine.

Feliciano's job took him out of the city three nights a week, and those three nights had become Lovino's favorite moments in time, because he knew he wouldn't be alone. Knew that the second Feliciano left, that Ludwig would show up at his door and stay there.

Lovino loved every minute they were together, and wished, above all else, that Ludwig would one day find the courage to tell Feliciano how he felt. Lovino had offered to do it, several times, but Ludwig always shot him down.

That always bothered Lovino, because Ludwig claimed he wasn't in love with Feliciano the way he was with Lovino, and yet had still not told him the truth.

So Lovino lied in bed with Ludwig one of those wonderful nights, and gathered up the courage.

Lovino stared over at Ludwig, eyes flitting over his face, and finally asked, "Who do you _really_ love?"

Just wanted to know. If Ludwig didn't leave Feliciano because he was really in love with him but was just confused, then that was that. Just wanted to know.

Ludwig stared right back at him, for a long while, and his brow crinkled for just a moment, lips pursed and looking so fraught.

And then, a deep whisper.

"I love you. But I can't— I'm so sorry. There's something wrong with me. I think that I love Feliciano, until I see you. And then I just want to run away with you and never be seen again. I know it's wrong, so I go back to him. I look at him, and try to see you there in his face. Little things. I love him so much, but it's different. He's my best friend. But you... I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."

Lovino reached out, rested his rough palm on Ludwig's face, and whispered, so foolishly, "Don't marry him. Come with me. I'll take you wherever you want to go. You want to run away with me? I'll take you, I will. We can go. If you just can't tell him, if you wanna run away, then I'll go."

Ludwig sat up at that, twisted at the waist and staring at Lovino in what looked like alarm. Lovino sat up with him, reaching out to quickly snatch his hand in case Ludwig tried to flee.

Lovino pressed their foreheads together, his other hand flying up to grab the back of Ludwig's neck.

"Just _tell_ him. That's all. Just tell him, and we don't have to worry about it anymore. Let me tell him, if nothing else. I can't stand it. You don't owe him anything like you think you do. Just leave him. You're afraid to hurt him—don't you think it's gonna hurt him a hell of a lot more to find out you married him just because you were too afraid to say no? Huh? Just tell him."

Ludwig closed his eyes and pushed into Lovino's forehead, brow crinkled and looking rather devastated, and he whispered, lowly, "I'm trying. I really am. I just— Every time I try to say it, I choke. He looks so happy, and I feel like the worst person alive."

Ludwig was the farthest thing from.

Sometimes being too nice only led to the hurt that it strove to avoid. Ludwig wasn't a bad guy. Just a normal man that had handled things badly. If anyone here was a bad person, then it was Lovino, for being less than sympathetic to Feliciano's feelings.

All Lovino could really do was wait.

Every day that passed, Lovino glanced at his phone, hoping he would one day get that text, that call, that message.

'I did it.'

Not yet.

Ludwig hadn't yet gathered the courage, but Lovino held out hope. And if Ludwig could just never do it, could never bring himself to break Feliciano's heart, then Lovino would just take the reigns and do it himself, with or without Ludwig's consent. Wouldn't let Ludwig passively walk up to that altar with a man he wasn't in love with. Would never let it go that far.

Until then, Lovino lived in night, fingers intertwined with Ludwig's as Ludwig lit up silver in the moonlight.

The only time he ever felt happy.


	2. WEST (AmeGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : AmeGer. 1960s West Germany during Vietnam War protests. Some language. That is all.

**WEST**

When Alfred had been drafted into the United States Army in 1967, he had been scared as hell, knowing for sure that he was going to be shipped out to Vietnam. His hands had been shaking so bad when he signed the papers that the guys behind him were laughing. How he hadn't puked right there, he would never know.

Someone or something had been looking out for him, though, because not being drafted right into the Marines meant that he had other options, and Alfred had damn near hit his knees when he was informed he would be patrolling West Germany to keep it out of Russian hands.

Damn! Had never felt such relief.

He wasn't a coward, mind, but what fool would ever refuse to count his blessings during a war that he was being sent on peaceful patrol? Not a one.

Mostly peaceful, he should say.

He arrived to a good bit of chaos, as demonstrations were breaking out left and right, both in favor of and against the war in Vietnam. The Germans seemed rather torn, although, Alfred was assured during the briefing, the Germans were very fond of American soldiers, regardless of how they felt about the war.

That was good news.

Of course the West Germans loved the Americans; as far as they were concerned (or so Alfred was repeatedly told), the Americans were the only thing keeping them safe from the Russian military might lurking right on the other side of that wall. West Berliners were deathly afraid of ending up like their Eastern brothers, and Alfred certainly felt for them on that end.

So, with that in mind, the anti-war demonstrations were never once directed at American soldiers. Merely politicians, and American soldiers patrolling nearby were always respected and spoken to very kindly.

Alfred did notice that the pro-war demonstrations weren't really so much pro-war as simply...well, pro- _American_. They flew American flags, and played American rock and roll music, holding posters of American actors and singers. It was a little bizarre for Alfred, but this was his first time ever away from home, so everything here was a little bizarre if he were honest.

Was still in that culture shock phase.

Felt so far out of his element. He had just been plucked out of the countryside one day and tossed into a foreign country. He gawked around at everything he saw, always asking his comrades question after question about this and that. He met one guy that was as lost and confused as he was, some kid named Matthew, and Alfred had stuck with him in an instant. Together they patrolled the area, enjoying new sights and smells and the sound of a different language.

Sometimes, when they were feeling brave, they chatted with the locals that came up to them to practice their English.

Everyone was nice, and exceedingly polite.

How great!

It wasn't bad here at all, and Germany very quickly sat well with Alfred. Matthew too, clearly, because he had brought a Polaroid camera with him from home and was constantly snapping away, tucking all of the photos so happily in his pocket.

Then, one Saturday afternoon, they were keeping watch on a pro-war (pro-American?) demonstration in front of the US embassy.

That was when Alfred had first met that man.

He stood up upon the makeshift stage they had set up, speaking to the crowd below. His voice was deep, thunderous, very commanding and yet very comforting in a way. A rumble that was quite soothing.

Alfred had noticed him in an instant, if only because he was so eye-catching. Pale as could be, with platinum hair, and eyes that were the same shade as the sky above him. Just caught Alfred's attention right off.

Alfred's feet had moved of their own accord, perhaps, because he didn't remember walking over to that man at all. Just remembered suddenly being in the middle of the crowd, right in front of that stage, and being close enough to see the circles under that man's eyes and the freckle on the side of his neck, and then the man had glanced over and their gazes had met.

Those eyes. Prettiest he had ever seen.

The man carried on speaking in German, and Alfred stood there and listened to him the entire while he spoke, not understanding a single word but loving the sound of it anyway. The Germans seemed happy enough to have Alfred standing there amongst them, and many of them clapped him on the back as they passed to and fro.

Matthew stood far back, and took some pictures.

When the tall blond above had finished speaking, he gave the stage to another man, and walked down. Alfred followed him with his eyes the entire while, the German glancing over at him very frequently, and when he disappeared into the crowd, Alfred realized that he had been smiling dumbly the whole while.

Well. Was certainly one of the more handsome fellows Alfred had ever seen, for sure.

Suddenly, those days in front of the US embassy were Alfred's favorite, because without fail Alfred would see that same man, walking briskly down the street. It didn't take Alfred long to realize that he attended the university nearby. Whenever he walked past, Alfred would pop up on his toes, move about a lot, trying to catch his attention without leaving his post, and always succeeded.

The pale man always cast Alfred a long, intense glance as he walked confidently by, and Alfred just smiled at him and watched him until he was gone.

A few weeks of this, before the next demonstration came. It was a bit larger than the last one had been, and this time it was on a different street, a bit more run down. A few abandoned buildings here and there, partially destroyed in the war and yet to be rebuilt. Alfred liked patrolling the demonstrations, because it was far less boring than guarding the embassy. Liked the ruckus and the noise and the people and the music, but disliked having to wear the metal helmet in those times. The strap under his chin always agitated him.

Alfred patrolled happily that day, and was always popping up on his toes to sweep the crowd and search for that pale hair. Didn't take him too long to catch a glint of it, quite the lighthouse, and Alfred steadily edged his way towards that beacon.

When he was closer, he could see that it was indeed the man he was looking for, and he crept ever closer yet, trying not to be very obvious.

The man in question glanced over, saw Alfred, and straightened up quite tall and dignified, clasping his hands behind his back and giving Alfred that piercing stare Alfred had started looking forward to. Alfred stood there on the outskirts of the crowd, and realized before long that the German was edging his way to the end of the crowd in Alfred's direction.

Alfred was probably smiling stupidly, despite every effort not to.

When the German had freed himself of the crowd around him and they stood just a bit apart, Alfred finally gathered up his nerve and said, loudly so as to be heard over the ruckus, "You help organize these things or something? You're always here!"

No response.

Just a quirked brow, a half-smile, and Alfred tried, "I see ya going to the university. What do ya study?"

A tilted head.

No answer at all, not a sound, and Alfred realized, saying, "Damn, you can't understand me. Too bad."

A shame, really, because he had desperately wanted to talk to this man. Couldn't exactly say why. He was just so handsome, eye-catching, and Alfred was drawn to him.

The German suddenly looked around, and then reached out and unexpectedly grabbed Alfred's hand and began tugging him along. His heart raced with excitement and nervousness, but Alfred followed him anyway, despite knowing he shouldn't have left his post.

Could never have refused that man.

Felt a bit then like he _had_ gone to war, hunkering over and rifle in hand, slinking through alleys and dark shadows to avoid being seen.

Exhilarating.

The German suddenly turned abruptly, and Alfred realized he had been dragged into an old bombed building, isolated and quiet and quite dark. Broken stones and concrete all around, as dusty light crept in from the cracks.

Could hear the demonstration far in the distance.

Alfred looked around at where he had been brought, no one else in sight and completely alone, and wondered if maybe he had gotten in a bit over his head.

Although he knew it was pointless, he slung his rifle over his back and asked the German, "Why the hell did you bring me here? I was kinda hopin' that we could just go have a beer or something like that. This is a little creepy, for my tastes."

Certainly eerie, this building, with those dusty beams of sunlight struggling along.

The German just studied him. Seemed rather curious, at who only knew what, and Alfred felt very dissected indeed under those sharp eyes.

Might have been shifting his weight, and when it was too intense Alfred finally asked with a laugh, "What? I got something on my face?"

Perhaps not.

Suddenly, there in the dark, the chaos outside muffled and distant, the German pressed forward and kissed Alfred's cheek. Shock, quite deep, and the German quickly pulled back, looking Alfred up and down and then turning to walk away, as if nothing had happened.

Whoa! No kissing and running!

Alfred snatched out to grab his wrist, sputtering, "H-hey! Not so fast! Where are you going? You can't leave me like _that_ , come on! The hell?"

The German fell complacently still, once more giving Alfred a good look over, and even though Alfred knew that he wasn't being understood, he asked, "Why'd you do that, huh? Why'd you kiss me?"

A lift of a brow, a rather coy smile, and the German shook his head a bit before trying once more to walk away.

Alfred refused to let him, whirling him back around, too furiously perhaps because they were chest to chest then and the German's hands had snatched out and grabbed his waist for balance.

Their noses nearly bumped then, and Alfred held the German very firmly in place, not allowing him to escape, his eyes running over that handsome face as he murmured, deeply, "Is that why you brought me here, huh? Where are you going? Kinda rude of ya, don't ya think? Kissin' a guy and getting his hopes up and then running away."

The German studied Alfred's face as intensely as Alfred studied his, and then he whispered something in German, voice so deep and rumbling that Alfred could feel it reverberating up his chest as he spoke. Shivered a bit at the sound, and although he knew he was breaking a hell of a lot of rules, Alfred was far beyond the point of caring.

He held the man in his hands still, and pressed forward to kiss him, and this time on the lips.

He was responded to quite enthusiastically, the German's arms flying up to loop around his neck, and Alfred momentarily forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Losing focus had always been a very bad habit of his, but who could really blame him that time, in the shadows with a pretty stranger and being kissed out of nowhere? Alfred was only a man, after all, and men were susceptible to seduction.

And, boy, had he ever been seduced.

The next thing dazed Alfred knew, the German had unclasped his helmet and tossed it aside, Alfred's hands had long since grabbed the German's thighs, one leg up against his waist, and he wasn't sure where his belt had gone.

Ah, who cared? Better not to have it.

Goddamn, were those legs ever _long_ —

He fumbled his rifle to the floor, and they wound up on the ground in a heap shortly after, those long legs wrapped around him like a vice. Couldn't stop running his hands up and down them, and it was an entirely surreal situation. Didn't even know this man's name!

Yet here he was, warm hands undoing his jacket and then running beneath his undershirt, as his own hands clumsily unclasped the German's belt.

Certainly wasn't his most professional moment as a soldier, but was by far his most exciting. Just him and some stranger, in this dusty, crumbling building, as the city bustled on outside and they were left in their own little world. Just the two of them, entangled and breathing heavily, Alfred's face buried in the German's shoulder, falling into the entrancing scent of his hair and cologne, mingled with sweat and the dust of the building. Warm hands running up his back. Nails digging into shoulders.

The most reckless thing he had ever done, and for that the most wonderful.

The happiest minutes of his life, those that made up that hour he fled his responsibilities, and when he was panting and covered in sweat, those hands fell on the back of his neck, the German pressed upward, and kissed him.

Couldn't remember the last time he had felt loved.

He rested his head atop the German's breast, listening to his heart as he caught his breath, and when he stopped breathing heavily, he opened his mouth, and started whispering whatever came to mind.

The German didn't understand a damn thing he said, so there was no pressure.

"I was so scared when they summoned me, you know? Even when I knew I was coming here and didn't have to go to Vietnam, I was still scared. I've never been away from home. Sad, I know. I'm just some dumb country kid, what do I know about the world? I wasn't meant to be all the way out here. I never thought I would ever be a soldier. I kinda wanted to be a pilot. I think I'd like that. Maybe when I get discharged, I'll try it out. I worry that maybe with my glasses they won't let me fly. Maybe it was for the best I got sent here. I sure am learning new things. It's nothing like what I thought it would be. I like it." He raised the German's hand up, kissed the top of it, and said, "If I'd'a known _this_ was gonna happen, I'd'a signed up before they could draft me. I'll stay here as long as they want me to. I think I already fell in love with this place. God—you're so pretty. I think this is the safest I've ever felt."

And he meant that.

Somehow, in some bizarre way, he hadn't ever felt so safe as he did then, held in this stranger's arms and being shown undeserved affection.

Insane, but beautiful.

Fingers brushing lightly under the base of his hair, and he shivered, smiling yet.

"But hey," Alfred added, very quickly, "Don't you go thinkin' that I just sleep with anyone without even knowing their names. I ain't like that. I don't know how the hell you did it. Sure am glad you did, though. This is something I'm sure as hell gonna remember for the rest of my life. Think I needed this. I was feeling pretty lonely here."

A comforting silence, as Alfred burrowed his face into that pale neck and exhaled.

Wished he coulda stayed in this moment forever.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, the German kissed Alfred's forehead and said, "Men like you are the reason I love the Americans. I like to imagine every single one is like this."

Alfred pulled back in shock, eyes wide and mouth open, and the German laughed at his expression.

Son of a bitch!

"You little liar!" Alfred cried, as he pulled farther back to gawk down at the man beneath him. "You've been letting me make a fool of myself this whole time!"

Damn, was he ever embarrassed. Knew his face was red. How humiliating, sayin' all that shit!

The German seemed very unbothered, and raised a hand up to sweep Alfred's damp bangs out of his eyes, and said, primly, "I never lied. I never once said I didn't speak English. You assumed that on your own. You never actually asked outright."

Well...yeah, actually. He _had_ just assumed, come to think, although in all fairness it had been an assumption he had been directed to by that silence.

So Alfred amended, "You misled me."

"Maybe. It was cute, you thinking I couldn't understand. I certainly got to know you better."

Alfred scoffed, and well, that was probably true, so he let it go and just collapsed back down, heavily, and settled back in. From the sound of it, the demonstration was still going strong and no one was going to notice he was missing until it disbanded.

He spent a good long half hour then, perhaps, just enjoying that warmth and comfort, running their hands over each other.

Time to go, though, far too soon, and Alfred kissed the German's neck before reluctantly rolling off of him with a sigh.

Hated leaving behind that feeling.

They dressed quickly, tidied themselves, the German made a grand show of putting Alfred's helmet back atop his head and clasping it, impeded frequently as Alfred pressed forward to kiss him.

With a gentle bump of his fist on the top of Alfred's helmet, the German turned and started walking away without a single word.

Alfred lifted his hands in the air, helplessly, and called, "Aren't you at least gonna tell me your name? Huh?"

The German looked back at him, cool as ever, and replied, so cattily, "You seem like the sort that enjoys a bit of mystery in your life."

Not really.

He walked off again, and Alfred tried, desperately, "Well—! Hey! Can you at least come back tomorrow? Come to the embassy. My buddy has a camera; I at least want a picture of you to take home. Please?"

The German turned around again, and seemed quite flattered at that. He changed tune then, perked up, and said, more amicably, "Ah! A photo? In that case, I will come. See you tomorrow, soldier. Noon."

 _Yes_ —!

Alfred clenched his fist in excitement, skittered off back to his post, spent the rest of the day beaming, high in the clouds, and counted down the minutes until the next day.

The German was as good as his word, and appeared there in front of the embassy precisely at noon, and Alfred felt himself puffing out and lighting up, abandoning his station in a second to walk over to the German, beckoning Matthew forward. Matthew was a bit more reluctant to leave his post, and Alfred finally had to grab his arm and drag him over. He complied, eventually, lifting the camera around his neck up and framing them as Alfred squirmed into the German's side.

"Ready?"

Alfred reached out at the very last second, and slung his arm over the German's shoulder, and he was damn glad he did, in hindsight, because that was the only way he had gotten a real and honest smile in that shot.

What a sight it was.

Alfred tucked the Polaroid very happily in his breast pocket, as the German eyed him, and then he asked Alfred, "Happy now? You have your photo."

"I'll be happier if you tell me your name."

The German's pale eyes flitted back and forth between Alfred and Matthew, and he bit his bottom lip as he seemed very deep in thought.

"I'll tell you what," he uttered, in that deep voice, "One more photo, for _me_ to have, and I'll give you my name."

"Deal!" Alfred instantly cried, and was quick to snatch Matthew's wrist and yank him back over.

Alfred wrangled the German once more into a pose, and this time the German was the one to sling his arm over Alfred's shoulder. Nothing like it in the world, that feeling.

Alfred took the photo from Matthew, and held it teasingly in front of the German, saying, "Alright. A deal's a deal. What's your name?"

A very handsome smile.

"Ludwig."

Alfred stared at him for a bit, and then scrounged around in his pocket for a pen, muttering, casually, "Yeah, ah—can you write that down?"

Didn't even know how the hell to repeat that name, and didn't want to make more of a fool of himself than he already had. But the German was patient and polite as always, humoring Alfred. They scribbled each others names on the backs of the photos, and Alfred felt quite on top of the world. The German just scrutinized Alfred, as he always seemed to, and silently walked away. Alfred watched him go, mood high and spirits higher.

Alfred was stationed in West Germany for a year, and he saw Ludwig every Saturday night.

They knew eventually they would be parted, but lived in the moment and enjoyed each others company.

Before he was shipped back home, Alfred snuck out, and saw Ludwig one final time. That was the most beautiful, the happiest, the most comforting, and yet also the _saddest_ night of his life. A wonderful dream that had to end. As they said goodbye, Ludwig pressed forward and kissed his cheek, as he had the very first time.

Alfred mighta cried a little (a lot later on alone), but would never admit it.

They parted ways forever, as it was always meant to be.

Many years later, looking back on it, Alfred could say for absolute certain that his favorite memory of serving in the United States Army was posing for that picture that he still carried in his wallet.

Wondered what Ludwig was up to these days?

Alfred _was_ quite overdue for a vacation. Maybe it was time to go back to Germany, now that it was whole. See what new trouble he could get himself into as a very ruggedly handsome forty-year-old.

Maybe, even, someone over there may have been waiting for him.


	3. MERCURY (FinGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : FinGer. A bit fluffy perhaps for me. (I LOVE Finland. It's my favorite country, I swear. I adore Finnish men, they're so awkward. It makes me smile.)

**MERCURY**

Ludwig knew he wanted to spend his week of vacation in Finland. The question really was just where. So many cities, so many places. It was the middle of September, so going very far north would have been useless in the sense of seeing northern lights. Didn't want to go to Helsinki, because Gilbert hadn't liked it.

In the end, he settled for Turku. It was small, quaint, like him, but had enough to do and see. Plenty of the great outdoors. Had high hopes, very high, and was looking very much forward to it.

He had studied furiously before traveling, as he always did, and knew enough by the time his plane landed the rules of Finnish society. Above all else, he knew not to make unnecessary eye contact and to never sit directly in front of someone if there were other seats available. He felt as if he would fit right in, as socially awkward as he was. No worry of him striking up a conversation with a startled Finn.

He dutifully obeyed all unspoken rules, and was very quiet on the train from Helsinki, never once lifting his eyes up to where they would risk meeting someone else's. He made it to Turku with no incident, checked into his hotel, threw himself on his bed, and sighed in relief.

Vacation, at last. Desperately needed one, and by himself. His first vacation without Gilbert or Roderich. All alone, and it was glorious.

His only plan for that day was to go out and get a beer, and then come back and go immediately to sleep. Had plenty of time to sightsee.

Naturally, because he seemed to be unlucky, he ran into a hurdle that very first night.

When the sun was close to setting, he went walking nearby and found a decent bar, went in, sat down in a barstool at the end in the corner, and happily ordered his beer that he wanted. He played around on his phone, looking up the sights in town and seeing what everyone enjoyed most about the city.

The bar was getting crowded, and Ludwig contemplated on getting a second beer, halfway now through his first.

Ludwig looked up then, and made eye contact with a man at the other end of the bar.

On no!

Broke the greatest rule, committed the biggest sin, and Ludwig very quickly looked away and pretended it had never happened at all. The dumb side of him wanted to call, stupidly, 'I'm so sorry!'

'Sorry I looked into your eyes and shattered every bit of civilized Finnish society.'

Ludwig wasn't even sure how much he was exaggerating, but knew it wasn't a lot if he were. Maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but he was a stickler for the rules and the rules had said no eye contact, so by god, that was what he was trying to do.

He kept his eyes very downcast, and tried to carry on.

He finished his beer, quietly, and sat for a moment, pondering his next move.

When he looked up again, another awful jolt—once more, he made eye contact with that same man, because that man was now staring at him. Shit! Made eye contact earlier, and was now in a relationship with that guy, if only for the hours they sat across from each other at the bar.

Uh-oh.

The man suddenly waved the bartender over, spoke a little, and the next thing Ludwig knew the bartender was sliding him a shot of Jäger.

"From that guy," the man said, with a tilt of his head, and Ludwig dared himself to glance over to see that same guy still staring away at him.

Ludwig did the polite thing and accepted the drink, raising his chin up in acknowledgement, and the Finn across the way just held up his beer.

Well, hell, the free drink was nice, he supposed, if nothing else. He was that guy's husband for the moment as it was, because lord knew they had made enough eye contact now to be considered married. Would enjoy the benefits for now.

His confidence quickly crumbled when the Finn put back the rest of his beer in one long chug and then stood up. A jolt of adrenaline, and Ludwig hoped that he was just going to leave, but of course he didn't, and came over towards the empty stool next to Ludwig.

Damn! What to do? He wasn't used to people noticing him at all, let alone buying him a drink and then actively seeking him out. Not the worst thing for his ego, naturally, but he was terrified all the same, and he very quickly put back the Jäger before the man reached him.

The Finn stood and stared at him silently for a while, Ludwig squirmed, and then finally he spoke in Finnish.

Ludwig was quick to ask, "You speak German?"

A short silence, as the Finn stared unblinkingly, and then a prying, "English?"

Ludwig nodded his head.

Whew.

The Finn seemed equally as relieved, and asked, "Can I sit here?"

A pretty voice, higher and smoother than his own.

Somewhat entranced and a little flattered, Ludwig just gave a dumb nod. Ha—this guy was his husband now, so may as well have a seat. They were making and holding direct eye contact now in very close proximity, so they were practically making love at that point.

The Finn sat, and stared away.

"So, what was that? German, right? You German?"

Again, Ludwig nodded.

"You a tourist?"

Another nod.

The Finn fell still and silent, and then waved down another beer. Ludwig ordered one too, and took a moment to observe his new partner. A rather handsome fellow, certainly. A pleasant surprise. Blond hair, neatly trimmed to above the nape of his neck, bangs swept to one side. Pretty eyes, big and brown and rather soft. Thick eyebrows, a bit of a button nose. A rather round face, rounder cheeks, coated with stubble. Many moles and sunspots here and there across his face and neck. Not as tall as Ludwig was, but quite wide. Broad and stocky. A fair bit older than Ludwig. Had a good few beers in him already, from the look of him, eyes lidded as they were and his face a bit pink. Clearly, he had been out on a very casual night with zero expectations of anything, for he was dressed quite sloppily. His button-down was wrinkled to oblivion, sleeves halfway rolled up, and his jeans were ripped at the knees.

...quite handsome, indeed. Had he been dressed neatly, he could have slid right into a boy band with no questions.

As the man grabbed his newest beer, Ludwig observed his very large hands.

Yes, yes, yes, very nice, quite. Ludwig was certainly in no hurry to run for the hills, socially awkward or no, and the Finn just took a very long chug of his beer, perhaps for courage, and then at last turned fully to Ludwig and held out one of those big hands.

"I'm Timo."

He took the hand, and replied, "Ludwig. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the drink."

Timo's hand was quite rough, and very warm, and he merely nodded his head.

Neither of them seemed to be heavy talkers, which was ideal perhaps, as they settled in over their beers and glanced awkwardly at each other. Goodness, now what? He hadn't exactly studied quite this far. Hadn't anticipated anyone paying him any attention while he was here, and no doubt this Timo fellow was trying to figure out Ludwig's inclinations without outright asking, 'Hey, you into guys?'

At last, Timo found his voice and asked, "How do you like Turku so far?"

Ludwig glanced over, their eyes met yet again, and Ludwig held that gaze for a while, as he replied, "I don't know. I just got here today. I haven't seen anything yet."

Timo looked him up and down, quite intently and obviously with interest, and gave the first bit of a smile.

"Came to see the castle, huh?"

Ludwig snorted, and tried to tease Timo a bit by uttering, "Oh, no, not at all. I came for the Moomins."

A wide-eyed look of surprise, and then Timo actually laughed, and Ludwig finally smiled.

Timo looked down into his beer, eyes lidded and smiling lopsidedly, and then his tongue poked out ever so slightly in thought and he very seriously uttered, "I fuckin' love the Moomins."

Ludwig's smile became quite wide, as this stocky, tipsy Finnish man declared a love for something most men would consider childish. Cute. Nostalgia was a potent thing, after all.

With that little laugh, Timo loosened up a bit, became more casual, found his feet, and Ludwig did too, and speaking was much easier. After that, when Timo spoke, he leaned sideways, and at one point he lifted his hand and rested it briefly atop Ludwig's forearm there above the bar. When Ludwig didn't pull away at all, Timo seemed very confident, very bolstered.

They chattered a bit, and Ludwig felt as confident as Timo suddenly looked. When Timo leaned sideways, Ludwig found himself suddenly doing the same, often putting them in danger of butting heads.

When the beer was gone, Timo turned to him once more, and asked, "So what are your plans for tonight?"

Riskily, Ludwig responded, "No plans at all."

Timo lifted his brow, and tried, so carefully, "Would you care to have a walk? The city is pretty at night."

Against his better judgment, Ludwig nodded his head.

"Sounds nice."

They paid their tabs and walked out, and Timo led the way quite surely, taking Ludwig into brightly lit streets and then towards the river. They went out onto the bridge, leaned against the side, and stood there for a while, staring at the lights on the water. Ludwig watched Timo carefully from the corner of his eye, because Timo was very close and from the look on his face he was very clearly plotting.

Surely enough, when Timo had crept close enough for their shoulders to touch, he asked, "So, you wanna come by my place, maybe? For another beer or something? There's a good boxing match on in about an hour."

That did sound fun, come to think, drinking and watching television on a stranger's couch, and although Ludwig was not spontaneous nor impulsive, he very brashly said, "I'd like that."

He was on vacation after all, and entirely unsupervised by Gilbert and Roderich.

Timo smiled, a real, full smile, and was very handsome for it. He was very quick to guide Ludwig to his home, a good forty minute walk or so, but they made it in time for the match and sobered up in the meanwhile, and of course had gotten in some more good chatter on the way.

Timo's voice was so nice to listen to. Ludwig found it quite endearing.

When Timo ushered Ludwig into his perfectly normal home, a bit bare but pleasantly neutral in palette and decorations, Timo led Ludwig straight to the sofa and flipped on the television.

When Timo went for more beer, though, Ludwig refused, and for that Timo didn't drink any more as well. Was sobered up now, and wanted Timo in that state too, for when Ludwig inevitably found himself in Timo's hands. It was no fun drunk, after all. Got a bit sloppy that way.

Timo kept a bit of a gap between them, politely, but always leaned over sideways to speak.

Ludwig couldn't say he was particularly invested in boxing by any means, but wouldn't pass up the chance to watch it when it came along for free. Timo, however, seemed very invested indeed, and said to Ludwig the second they sat down on the couch, "You know, Finland has made some of the best boxers in history! There are great statues all over, especially in Helsinki."

Ludwig tried to be very interested, and wasn't certain he was successful.

For all it mattered in the end; despite Timo leaping to his feet and shouting at the television in Finnish and jerking his fist in the air, his apparent favorite still lost. He groaned, covered his face with his palms, and by then Ludwig had gathered up enough courage and affection for Timo to make the first move, because Timo seemed too afraid to.

He stood up, went over to sulking Timo, grabbed his wrists and lowered his hands, and kissed him. Timo gawked at him for just a second, frozen up, but he very quickly came to, and very surely. Hands on his waist, and the scent of Timo was quite pleasant, cologne mingled with that faint whiff of beer, and suddenly Timo was pushing him back and walking him clumsily towards a door.

Good thing they had sobered up after all.

He grabbed handfuls of Timo's shirt for balance as they staggered awkwardly backwards, and somehow they made it to the bed with little incident and no falls. Timo was very quiet, as always, breathing heavily and content to run his hands down Ludwig's legs as Ludwig very happily undid the buttons of his shirt.

Was so glad to be alone, with no Gilbert waiting for him to return in the hotel. Could hear that loud voice in his head when Gilbert went on the warpath looking for him, only to hunt him down here and kick open the door and pull out a gun when he saw someone pinning down his little brother.

That thought made him laugh, and Timo lifted his head from Ludwig's neck and raised his brow, asking, "What?"

Looked a little nervous, and Ludwig was quick to reply, as he finished with the shirt and yanked Timo out of it, "Oh, nothing. I just didn't think this would be my welcome to the city."

Timo almost smirked then, he was so sure of it, and his ego seemed rather stoked when he muttered back, as he ripped Ludwig's belt off, "You were the one coming on to me so hard."

Oh, yeah—he had made eye contact. Twice.

Certainly his fault, and Ludwig conceded with a very sultrily rumbled, "I couldn't help it. You're very handsome."

Timo _was_ smirking then, absolutely was, looking quite self-satisfied and almost smug, and that was the last they spoke for a good long while, fumbling about as they were to get rid of unwanted articles of clothing.

Loved Timo's hands, how rough they were as they ran over his shoulders when Ludwig rolled Timo onto his back and squirmed down. Wondered what he did for a living for them to be so calloused. Would ask soon, when his mouth was otherwise unoccupied.

Probably lost a good bit of hair, hard as Timo was clenching it.

A fun night indeed, although Ludwig had to clamp his jaw to avoid laughing once more when Timo rolled them over again and pinned him down, because up on Timo's dresser, in the corner of the room, sat a plush Moomin.

Ha!

What a dork. Ludwig found Timo positively to his liking in every sense, and ran his hands endlessly over Timo's back and shoulders because Timo seemed to like it. Come to think, for being so awkward and quiet and rather rough during the act, Timo was actually very affectionate. As soon as he fell down on Ludwig he was nuzzling his neck, and then he rolled them over so that Timo was spooning him, arm over his chest and pressing up against him very fervently.

A snuggler, apparently.

Ludwig eyeballed the Moomin plushie, snorted, and gripped Timo's forearm. He clearly wasn't going to be let go anytime soon, so he may as well settle in and get comfortable. Looked like he was spending the night.

Timo kissed the back of his neck, and asked, eagerly, "So how long are you staying here?"

Ludwig smiled to himself.

"A week."

A very pleased noise from Timo's chest, a tighter grip, and then lifted up his head to press his lips against Ludwig's ear, and murmured, "I'm a good tour guide. And then of course, I'll be happy to find you fun things to do at night."

Was pretty sure he knew what Timo had in mind.

Well! What a fun week this was going to be.

So Ludwig just rumbled in response, "Sounds good to me."

Timo just grunted back, "Go see if you can get your money back from that hotel. You're in for it."

Challenge accepted.

Before they drifted to sleep, Ludwig breathed, "Take me to Moomin World tomorrow."

Timo snuggled up against his back, and replied, so happily, "I was already gonna."

Naturally.

Best vacation ever.


	4. THE LAST NIGHT OF THE WORLD (AmeGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : AmeGer, in which Alfred takes advantage of Ludwig's lack of knowledge of traditions. Here's a late 4th of July one for ya. Allow me to allow Alfred to brag about the state of my birth for a moment, if you please.

* * *

**THE LAST NIGHT OF THE WORLD**

Ludwig had done many dumb things in his life, he would admit that. Perhaps his dumbest venture, in hindsight, was being so bold as to take his first trip to the United States during their independence day.

He got far in over his head.

It was such an innocent thing, really. Ludwig had had a choice to make : Canada Day, or the Fourth of July. One or the other. Could have stayed at Niagara Falls and done both on either side of the border, but there was one minor problem.

Ludwig's insufferable American acquaintance.

He had met Alfred in Paris when they had both been backpacking, and they had hit it off, because Alfred had spotted Ludwig sitting alone on the couch and had literally dragged him out with the group to a bar. Naturally, when the opportunity to travel to North America had finally come about, Ludwig had of course told Alfred of his plans.

Just as naturally, Alfred had said, 'Ditch Canada! Come down here for the Fourth! It'll be awesome! I promise. I'll show you all around.'

The promise of a free tour guide had swayed Ludwig, and so he had marked off Canada and went down to North Carolina instead, to Wilmington, where Alfred resided. Alfred had told Ludwig that he was welcome to stay with him, of course, but Ludwig had felt much like a free loader that way and decided to stay in a hotel in the heart of the city for two days. Afterwards, his plans had depended entirely on how much, exactly, Alfred intended to show him.

Of course the very first thing Alfred showed him was an American battleship, which was admittedly very interesting, and they had walked about it for a good few hours, Alfred never once shutting up and gesturing frequently as he gave Ludwig a very enthusiastic tour.

Ludwig enjoyed listening to Alfred speak, because he liked that Southern accent, that languid drawl. Had always liked the way Alfred said 'I', as more of an 'Ah'. Maybe, in the very back of his mind, he also just really liked _Alfred_ , although of course he could never just outright say that.

Alfred had taken him next to the beach, and nudged his side, saying, "How come you didn't wanna stay with me? What, afraid I'll bite or something?"

A very deep blush, and Ludwig averted his eyes. Alfred's hand flew up to the back of his arm and stayed there as they walked, and Ludwig was very intimidated by Alfred's intensity. Certainly charming.

Alfred was just very hands on, and always had been.

The next day, Alfred called him at noon, and said, _"Come over to my house. We're going to have a great party. Everyone will set off a ton of fireworks tonight. First we'll watch the city ones, then we'll set off our own. Come over!"_

Ludwig did, very happily (and nervously) putting Alfred's address into his rental car's GPS.

He liked Alfred, more than he should have, and so being near Alfred made him nervous, particularly with how exuberant Alfred was in his mannerisms.

When Ludwig arrived to Alfred's quaint little home, it was very clear that the 'great party' consisted of merely him and Alfred.

Oh dear.

Somehow, though, when Ludwig pulled into the drive and Alfred came running out to greet him, it felt very much like a party indeed, because Alfred was always so excited and pumped up. He ushered Ludwig inside so cheerily, and Ludwig was awed by him, as always.

Alfred certainly _was_ very exuberant, lived life to the absolute fullest, and Ludwig envied that. When they had first met, in fact, Alfred had dragged Ludwig to a shitty club long after Ludwig had been down for the count, saying, 'What's the matter with you? You could die tomorrow, you know? You gonna be happy with what you did today? Every night is the last night of the world!'

Wise words, if not _exhausting_.

Alfred had lived by those words tonight, for sure, because his small kitchen was very set up for a party, if only for just the two of them. The counters were covered with various dishes, the tablecloth was a plastic rendition of the American flag, there were little red, white, and blue streamers here and there, cheap little decorations.

Overkill. Did all Americans do this? Was this normal or was this just Alfred? Sometimes, it was very hard to tell.

"Now!" Alfred began, so very proudly, as he swept his hand emphatically over the counters, "I have prepared for you some of the finest dishes my state has to offer, and I know you're picky, so I made sure to get top-notch quality. I have, for your consideration, some BBQ, homemade biscuits, livermush, a variety of Calabash seafood, and, my personal favorite, sweet potato pie. To drink, of course, Pepsi, which you may have heard of, and then to season your BBQ, we have Texas Pete! All proudly created here. I hope you're hungry. I'm going to give you the best Independence Day of your life. Since, ya know, you guys don't know how to party."

Hmph.

Ludwig swept his eyes over the table Alfred had clearly very lovingly prepared, and couldn't help but smile, just at how proud he was of himself.

Well, when in Rome...

Ludwig met Alfred's gaze, smiled, and said, "You outdid yourself."

Alfred puffed out quite proudly, face full of arrogance, and Ludwig found it rather charming in some way. When Alfred tossed him a beer, Ludwig took it, even if it was horrible.

When night came, everything was going so nicely, so pleasantly. Ludwig was having a great time, even though it was just him and Alfred. Alfred was enough life and party for an entire platoon, naturally, so it was quite entertaining. Had nearly laughed himself senseless by then at Alfred's stupid jokes and stories, loosened up by beer and Alfred's friendliness.

Ludwig did make the grave mistake, however, of saying that he had thought BBQ was a Texas thing, and Alfred looked _deeply_ offended, mortally wounded, as if Ludwig had slapped him across the face or shot him right in the heart. Ludwig had immediately tried to change the subject, but failed, and was then made to suffer a half-hour long lecture about how very different _that_ BBQ was, thank you very much, blah blah blah.

Ludwig zoned out very quickly, nodding his head along, and when Alfred stopped speaking Ludwig had merely intoned, "You're right. Forgive me."

Alfred seemed relieved to have made Ludwig see the light, but then Ludwig made the stupider mistake of asking why it was called 'Texas' Pete and made for BBQ if _Texas_ BBQ was _so_ inferior, and Alfred sputtered a bit before railing on another tangent.

Ludwig wished he knew when to shut his mouth.

He was very grateful when it was time to go watch the fireworks.

For a while, anyway, and then everything went off the rails again. They had driven out to the beach, to watch the show, standing a bit back on a dune under the clear, starry sky. The scent of the ocean and the sound of the waves. Comforting. Alfred was standing very close to him, occasionally bumping into his shoulder.

When the first firework burst overhead, there was a very shocking development :

A hand on his arm, a firm yank, and Alfred had suddenly clenched him up within his arms and kissed him very furiously with absolutely no warning.

Had come entirely out of nowhere.

No hints whatsoever had been dropped, or at least Ludwig had clearly missed them if they had been, and he was so stunned and shocked and bewildered that he stood very placidly still within Alfred's strong arms, eyes wide.

Alfred kissed him for a very long minute, and then released him.

Ludwig gawked at him for far longer, staring away as if hypnotized.

Alfred just lifted his chin, ran a hand through his hair to smooth it, and drawled, so casually, "It's the Fourth, man! You gotta kiss someone when the first firework goes up. That's the rule. You're the only one here."

...was it the rule? Had clearly missed that in all of his readings.

So Ludwig just shifted his weight, and replied, stupidly, "Oh."

Was Alfred leering? Looked like he was leering.

Ludwig stood there quite like an idiot for a while, shuffling about and uncertain of how to react. Very much wanted to fling himself into Alfred's arms and stay there, but up until that point Alfred had made absolutely no other motions. If this were just a tradition he missed, then perhaps it was simply that and trying to make a move on Alfred would backfire terribly.

Couldn't handle _that_ humiliation, and so Ludwig instead turned his eyes back out to fireworks bursting above the waves.

Felt dizzy, and Alfred just stood there right beside of him life before, just as closely, but said nothing and made no other move.

...damn.

When they went back to Alfred's house, Alfred set off his own fireworks, as promised, saying, because he knew it would bother strict Ludwig, "This is illegal here, ya know. I bought these babies down in South Carolina."

Needless to say, Ludwig spent the rest of the show looking out at the road for a police car to come roaring up. Alfred laughed at him. Ludwig laughed at Alfred, when he lit a fuse and then scampered quickly back to avoid losing any fingers.

Come midnight, Alfred was very tipsy, and came up far too close to Ludwig, throwing a very warm hand down on his shoulder and saying, "Hey. It's late. You can spend the night here."

Terrified of himself acting a fool around Alfred, Ludwig quickly refused and said he would rather go back to his hotel, since he had paid for it already. Alfred just waved him off, didn't seem offended, and just said, as Ludwig got into the car, "Call me tomorrow. We'll find something to do."

"I will."

Ludwig tossed and turned and didn't sleep at all that night, mind constantly on Alfred and his hands, and hating himself for it. That guy was the worst, the absolute worst, and Ludwig hated liking him as much as he did.

In the morning, with an awful headache and needing to check out of the hotel, Ludwig gathered his things and went out to his car. Didn't want to go immediately to Alfred's, jittery as he still was, and could look for another hotel in some other city after he was done with one last day of frolicking with Alfred.

But first.

He went straight to the nearest store, and bought a bottle of aspirin. The lady at the register heard his accent and made conversation with him, asking him where he was from, how he liked it here, how long he was staying, what he had seen, etc.

Ludwig politely responded, and did hear himself say, at one point, "American customs are very strange to me. I have never seen another country that kisses on their independence day holiday."

She tilted her head, and said, "What's that?"

Ludwig tinted pink a bit, and replied, sheepishly, "I didn't know that when you see the first firework, you have to kiss someone. I was not prepared for that. I was surprised."

The lady lifted her head, looked Ludwig up and down, and drawled, "Honey, someone sure got one over on you."

Ludwig crinkled his brow in confusion, and just gave a dumb, "Huh?"

She shot him a smile and laughed, and said, far too cheerily, "Oh! Bless your heart. We don't kiss on the Fourth of July here. That's only on New Year. Someone got you good."

Shock.

Ooh— _Alfred_!

His face had never been so red in his entire life. He marched straight out of the store, threw his bag in his car, pulled out his phone, and called that bastard.

It was answered immediately.

_"Hey! Thinkin' about me, huh? I knew—"_

"How dare you!" Ludwig screeched, so loudly that Alfred no doubt pulled the phone away from his ear. "You lied to me!"

 _"Did I?"_ came the nervous sputter.

"You said that you kiss people on the Fourth of July! You lied to me!"

Alfred was very tellingly silent.

"Well?" Ludwig pressed. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

A short silence, and then Alfred said, in a much more casual tone, _"Come over so I can kiss you again? And stay here for a few days. You ain't got no other plans and you know it. Ditch the hotel. Come over. Now."_

Bossy!

Ludwig's face blazed up once more, and he hung up the phone with a huff.

He angrily punched in the address in the GPS, and very sulkily drove straight back over to Alfred's. ...but not to kiss him again. Absolutely not. Was going to punch him, for sure, that was right, that was it. Punch him, yell at him, and then leave after a kiss. No, wait! Not that.

Damn.

Alfred was standing out on his porch when Ludwig pulled into the drive, and Ludwig stomped out, perhaps a bit childishly, marching up to Alfred as he chided, loudly, "What's wrong with you? Do you think I'm that stupid, that I wouldn't find out that you—"

Alfred rolled his eyes, stalked forward to meet Ludwig during his march, and before Ludwig could finish bitching Alfred had just grabbed him by the upper arms and kissed him again.

And Ludwig was very furious about it, absolutely.

...just not enough to bother pulling away. That was simply too much effort, was all. His head _did_ hurt. Best to relax.

It was Alfred actually who pulled back in the end, and Ludwig, after blinking a bit to remember where he was, immediately started bitching again, and Alfred sighed a little before kissing him once more.

That time, when Alfred pulled back, he said, "See? I gotta kiss ya, 'cause that's the only way you stop bitchin' at me. Now get inside the house."

Ludwig fell dumbly still, as his brain malfunctioned under Alfred's audacity, and the next thing he knew he was somehow on Alfred's couch and Alfred was on top of him and he wasn't bitching anymore.

Hated this man.

Really.

It was just very hard to argue with a man like Alfred, because he was as stubborn as an ass, bullheaded, and impossible to really resist in any manner. So, when Alfred stood up and yanked Ludwig to his feet, grabbing him by the waist to walk him backwards, Ludwig didn't exactly give his best efforts at fighting him off. Gave an effort, oh yes, but one so pitiful that Alfred just sneered at him and muttered, "How'd ya know I like it when you pretend to fight me off?"

Oh, this asshole—

That time, it was Ludwig who kissed Alfred, as they tumbled back into the bedroom, so that _he_ could get Alfred to shut up for once. Alfred didn't complain, and when Alfred shoved him roughly onto the bed and tried to hold him down, Ludwig certainly didn't roll him over and force him to work to pin him because he knew that Alfred liked that. Absolutely not. He was really, truly struggling. For sure. Really.

A frustrated Alfred snarling as he fought, though, well, that was rather nice indeed. His glasses had long since fallen off, and Ludwig was very much intending to steal them before he left, to blind the bastard for a while.

Long minutes later, when Alfred finally managed to hold Ludwig still underneath him, he grunted, testily, "Remind me why I like you so much again?"

Ludwig glared up at Alfred, wrists painfully clenched within Alfred's big hands, and he griped back, "I ask myself the same of you!"

Alfred scoffed, and grumbled, "Oh, yeah. That smart mouth. I forgot."

"No one else tells you how awful you are, so _I_ have to—"

That was the last Ludwig got to speak for a very long while, because apparently Alfred really did very much like his smart mouth.

Ludwig did make sure, during that very long afternoon, to raise as much hell as he could and leave Alfred with a few bruises.

Alfred, the jerk, just seemed pleased.

Eh, he should have just gone to Canada.


	5. LIGHTHOUSE (FraGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : FraGer. Some questionably not-quite-underage technically but very iffy I suppose?

* * *

**LIGHTHOUSE**

Francis had abruptly run into a very, very big problem in his life. A massive problem. An absolute Everest of a problem.

He was falling in love with his best friend's brother.

And it was _not_ appropriate.

Gilbert was going to murder him, was going to absolutely rip him limb from limb if he ever found out that Francis had been fantasizing about his little brother. Holy hell, couldn't even fathom Gilbert's wrath. Would have absolutely slaughtered him.

Whew.

Probably not the only one, either; the cops might have wanted to have a quick word with him as well, if things went south.

Exceedingly inappropriate.

What the hell was the matter with him? Thirty-five years old and eyeballing a fifteen-year-old. Must have been knocked upon the head at some point, must have lost his senses.

Francis was very bold by nature, but this time he actually stopped and looked around at the situation and realized what a damn mess he could have so easily gotten himself into. So many complications from a legal aspect, notwithstanding all of the moral ones.

He could never have exactly explained how he had gotten to this point. It had seemed like such a normal, straightforward path.

He and Gilbert had been best friends since their first year in school, had clicked with each other right off, and had grown up always stuck together. They were both only children, they didn't live too far from each other, and so it seemed natural. Francis had been Gilbert's first friend, because their family had just moved to town from Germany, and it was Francis more than the school perhaps that had taught Gilbert French. Gilbert was albino, and the other kids had teased him relentlessly. It had never bothered Francis, and so they had drifted to each other.

The small town was on the northern coast, near the beach, and there was a very old, abandoned lighthouse that Gilbert and Francis loved to sneak into and play around in.

They grew older, and were always together as before, but this time to cause trouble. The lighthouse of theirs became no longer a plaything so much as an escape from their parents. They sat together and tried their first cigarettes there, coughing and laughing, and they would go there to drink together.

Years came, Francis straightened up just a bit more than Gilbert did, but only a bit, and would drink and stare out at the sea as Gilbert got high.

They loved each other.

At nineteen, they rented a flat together and became roommates, and were free to get into all the trouble they wanted.

And then they were twenty, and Gilbert came home one day holding a baby. Francis had leapt upright, in shock, and exclaimed, 'Holy shit! Who did you knock up? Why didn't you tell me?'

Gilbert had laughed for a long time, at Francis' expression, as Francis immediately came forward and cooed at the baby in a less than dignified manner. Gilbert looked proud, somehow, bolstered, and was quick to explain.

'Nah, man—my parents just adopted him! They miss having a kid, I guess. So. This is my new little brother. His name is Ludwig.'

Again, Francis asked, 'Why didn't you tell me?'

Adoption wasn't an easy process. Would have taken months, and Gilbert hadn't said a word.

'I wanted it to be a surprise.'

Sounded like Gilbert, and Francis had taken the child from Gilbert's arms and played with him a little before Gilbert snatched him back and carted him around. It had been so easy to see, right off, how badly Gilbert had always wanted a sibling. It was a little late, yeah, but Gilbert had gotten what he wanted all the same.

Francis hardly felt abandoned, because Gilbert frequently brought Ludwig to their flat and Francis played with him. Gilbert adored Ludwig, absolutely was taken with him, and they didn't go to the lighthouse anymore because Gilbert was always spoiling Ludwig.

Ludwig had platinum hair, very pale eyes, and Francis wondered where he had come from.

Years passed, Francis and Gilbert burst into adulthood quite nicely, but damn Gilbert got big! Same height as Francis but so much broader, so much stronger, and Francis was always a bit disappointed by that. Going to the gym was a natural response to Gilbert's wide shoulders, and with a bit of muscle the difference between them was less obvious. Whew—crisis averted. Francis was also very quick to let himself grow a bit of a beard, let his hair grow out, and Gilbert just rolled his eyes and teased him. When Francis' hair was long enough to tie back, Gilbert had retaliated by shearing his hair off almost entirely into a rather sort of military cut that made his cheeks and jaw really stand out. Damn.

Gilbert was more handsome, bigger, but the girls flocked to Francis because Gilbert was albino and therefore not exactly traditional. Gilbert didn't seem bothered, and was still perfectly able to get his own girls when he went looking, so Francis didn't feel bad. They knew when to give the other the flat, and had an understanding. They were perfectly in sync, and Francis had finally confessed to Gilbert that he was bisexual. Gilbert had seemed surprised, but waved it quickly off and had said, 'So what? I don't care. Just don't hit on _me_ , eh?'

Francis had grimaced and pretended to retch, and Gilbert had punched his shoulder.

Francis loved that bastard.

But then they were twenty-five, and Gilbert's parents died in a car crash.

That was the worst week of Francis' life, seeing his best friend like that. Gilbert, so strong and arrogant and fearless, clenching Ludwig to his chest and crying into his hair. The worst thing Francis had ever seen.

Suddenly, Gilbert was the guardian of a small child. Francis had wondered if maybe Ludwig would go back into the system, if maybe Gilbert wasn't ready to be a father so much as a big brother, but the answer to that made itself very clear. Immediately, in fact, because when Gilbert had been signing all of the papers, the lawyer had suggested, with good intentions no doubt, that if Gilbert wasn't ready to take care of a child then the foster care system would be a good alternative.

The lawyer had a black eye when they left, but didn't press charges. Thankfully. Gilbert was a wreck, and the man had taken pity on him.

Gilbert snatched Ludwig up and never looked back.

Gilbert moved back into his parents' home, and the flat become Francis'. They still saw each other every day, and Francis helped out when he could, but Gilbert loved Ludwig so much and did a surprisingly great job of taking care of him.

More years passed.

Gilbert was incredibly protective of Ludwig, suffocating perhaps, and Francis watched curiously as Gilbert walked Ludwig to and from school every day, holding Ludwig's hand and not letting him out of his sight. Maybe Gilbert just remembered how mean the other kids were to him in childhood and was trying in some way to shield Ludwig from that, although Ludwig was quite the normal child.

His parents' demise may have made Gilbert a bit more overbearing than he would have been otherwise.

Ludwig was going to be handsome when he was grown, that was obvious. Had the look about him. Had those pretty eyes and that platinum hair. High cheeks, getting sharper every time Francis saw him. Was still rather homely now, child that he was, but there was potential.

How it had happened, Francis would never know. All he knew was that he had seen Ludwig one day, as he always did, and it had been life as normal. Ludwig had been barely fourteen. Lanky and gangly and awkward as all kids that age were. A bit plain. Almost as pale as Gilbert somehow, quiet and meek and very stoic. Ludwig had always been a strange child, far quieter than most and always so serious. Had never done anything at all to catch Francis' eye.

Didn't know what _happened_.

Just went to the city on vacation for a week, and when he came back, something had changed. It had only been a damn week—what the hell?

Gilbert answered the door when Francis knocked, and Francis had glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and balked, nearly asking, 'Did you dye your hair?'

A second glance, a blink, and it wasn't Gilbert. Had never seen this man in his life, and yet had known him for years.

It was Ludwig.

Holy shit! What the _hell_?

Francis' mouth had actually dropped in shock. Ludwig had absolutely shot up overnight. His legs had gotten so long that suddenly he was actually taller than Francis was, by a centimeter or two, and his shoulders and chest had broadened a bit. Not so gangly and awkward anymore; just rather lean, lithe. Was that a gleam of stubble on his cheeks? His Adam's apple was suddenly very prominent, his jaw seemed more square, his features sharper. His eyes were the only thing that hadn't changed, but seemed far more intense now, given that new face on which they sat.

Ah— _that_ age.

Francis stared at Ludwig in absolute disbelief, because it was jarring, and Ludwig must have been self-conscious yet because he very quickly ducked his head, and asked, "Hey. How was your vacation?"

Whoa! Ludwig's voice had gotten deep, very deep. Oh man. Had known for a while that Ludwig would be handsome when he was grown, but Francis was actually surprised that Ludwig had come together quite that well. Certainly wasn't an ugly duckling anymore. Wasn't a swan now, either though. More like a damn eagle.

So Francis just raked Ludwig up and down, and replied, "Not as good as yours, apparently."

Ludwig's face tinted pink, and Francis walked inside. Ludwig was very quick to skitter off, and Francis went on the hunt for Gilbert.

Gilbert was sitting on the couch, flipping through channels, and Francis could see as soon as he sat that Gilbert's brow was creased and he looked very deep in thought.

"Wow!" Francis began, nudging Gilbert's shoulder. "When the hell did _that_ happen, huh? I was only gone a week."

Gilbert nearly pouted, and certainly looked displeased.

A noncommittal grunt, a shift, and then Gilbert finally grumbled, "It sucks. I think I forgot he was actually going to grow up. I had to show him how to shave the other day. I almost cried. You hear his fuckin' voice? It ain't fair, man. I hate it."

Francis snorted, and spent the next few hours trying to soothe Gilbert's frazzled nerves, as Gilbert watched his beloved little brother come into manhood right before his eyes. Clearly it was upsetting to him, perhaps because Gilbert was dreading the day Ludwig would squirm out from under his wing and go off on his own.

Francis, for his part, just stared at Ludwig every time he passed, mesmerized.

After that, Francis came by every day, which wasn't anything new really, but now instead of spending all of his time with Gilbert he was suddenly and unexpectedly hovering over Ludwig. He and Ludwig had always spoken easily and casually, naturally, because Francis was practically Ludwig's other big brother, but Francis chatted Ludwig's ear off constantly now, because he liked the sound of Ludwig's new voice.

It was still in that stage of deepening, and often cracked, broke, and it was quite cute, because Ludwig seemed embarrassed by that. But then, Ludwig was embarrassed by just about everything, and so Francis just sort of swooped Ludwig up since Gilbert was still quietly mourning the loss of Ludwig's childhood.

Was captivated by this new Ludwig, and was aware on some level that Ludwig was highly attractive to him, but at first that notion was very muddled and not clear to him, because Ludwig was still in his eyes a child.

When Ludwig was fifteen, however, it finally seemed to come together in Francis' head, as Ludwig came more and more into himself, and it came to him in a rather rude and abrupt way. Had a damn dream about Ludwig one night, out of absolutely nowhere, and it was, ah...less than appropriate, to say the very least.

Oh, _shit_.

That day, when Francis saw Ludwig, he saw many new things he hadn't exactly paid attention to before. The little sunspots and freckles here and there on Ludwig's face and shoulders. The length of his neck. The little ring of gold around his pupils. The shape of his lips.

Francis knew he was in trouble, alright, because suddenly Ludwig was very beautiful to him and he was going to get himself killed for it. Couldn't stop staring, and eventually Gilbert would notice. Thought far too frequently of Ludwig after that, dreamt of him far too much, and wondered what, exactly, his chances would have ever been.

He was a handsome guy, right?

He had gotten a bit slack since he had been his thirties, and so Francis made a point of returning regularly to the gym. Not because he wanted to impress Ludwig, but rather because he wanted to have some sliver of a chance of survival if Gilbert ever found out that Francis was eyeballing Ludwig.

One spring day, however, a new development occurred.

Ludwig came to his house after school, and knocked on his door. Francis was startled to see him but also very excited, and quickly ushered him in.

"Hey! What's up? Need some help with homework or something?"

Francis was staring very intensely at Ludwig's pretty face, and Ludwig averted his gaze.

Ludwig shifted his weight back and forth, one foot to the other, restlessly, and then he finally said, in the deepest voice Francis had ever heard, "Can I talk to you about something?"

Entranced and very captivated, Francis nodded.

Ludwig looked quite uneasy, certainly nervous, and it was Ludwig's anxiety that gave Francis the willpower to put a hand on his shoulder and lead him over to the kitchen table and sit him down. Ludwig immediately rested his face in his palms, foot tapping away, and Francis waited patiently.

After a long while, Ludwig's pale eyes peeked at him from above his fingertips, and then he uttered, "I'm confused. I can't... I'm afraid to talk to Gilbert about it. I didn't know who else to ask."

Feeling very egotistical and very self-satisfied, Francis sat up straight, puffed out a little, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Felt very on top of the world, Ludwig coming to him of all people.

...Francis was the _only_ one aside from Gilbert, granted, but still.

It was another long minute before Ludwig gathered up his courage again, and grumbled, very lowly, "It's just... Um. I think I might... Is it normal to— A girl at school sent me a note. She likes me. But I think I might— It's just, there's this guy—"

Ludwig trailed off, face blazing red and pupils dilated in what was obviously fear, and somehow, despite Ludwig's very disjointed and nonsensical explanation, Francis actually understood what Ludwig was trying to say.

Heart hammering and feeling oddly excited, Francis leaned forward and asked, so very carefully, "So, you think maybe you like boys instead of girls? Is that right?"

A swallow, a deep breath, and Ludwig nodded, looking so terrified that Francis actually felt pretty damn bad for him.

To ease Ludwig's mind as quickly as possible, Francis laughed, tried to make light of it, and said, "That's perfectly normal, Ludwig."

Ludwig sat up straight, inhaled, and seemed astounded.

A higher, eager, "Really?"

"Sure!" Francis said, eyeing Ludwig up and down without being entirely aware of it and possibly leering. "But you shouldn't have been afraid to tell Gilbert. He won't care. He loves you, you know?" Francis could have left it here, but felt the very odd need to throw himself out there, and added, "Gilbert didn't care at all when I told him that I like guys. We're still best friends."

A rather large hint Francis tossed out for absolutely no reason.

Ludwig looked quite awed, and certainly very relieved.

Francis had been certain, as he had walked Ludwig back home, that Ludwig kept on glancing at him. His neck was getting a cramp, way he was suddenly holding himself at perfect posture and flexing. Why not? Ludwig may have had a crush on some unknown schoolmate, but Francis continued to put himself out there.

It was very easy to forget, looking at Ludwig now, that he had watched this kid grow up right in front of him. On top of how he looked physically, Ludwig was just so serious. So quiet and stern and put together. With his new looks and that attitude, it was very easy to forget how young Ludwig actually was. Francis saw him more as twenty-five than fifteen, as a whole, and for that it was easier to feel less horrible about himself.

Francis become more certain every day that he wanted to act, wanted to give an effort, wanted to try his hand at Ludwig, even if Ludwig would have only liked Francis for a while. Ludwig was a child, after all, a hormonal teenager, and kids often had crushes on older people, teachers and whatnot, before quickly moving on.

Francis would have been happy had Ludwig merely held his hand for a while and leaned against him. A kiss, perhaps.

That was half of Francis' mind, at any rate. The other half was sheer unadulterated panic and horror, as he watched Gilbert from the corner of his eye and waited to be murdered.

Every time they made dinner together, Francis would look at the knife in Gilbert's hand and shudder. When they went fishing, Francis watched Gilbert cleaning a fish and knew that, with one wrong breath, it would be _him_ that Gilbert was gutting. When Gilbert roughhoused with Ludwig, Francis would stare at Gilbert's huge biceps and cringe, because damn if there was no way he would have been able to free his neck from those hands once Gilbert clenched.

Dead man walking.

With that in mind, Francis stayed very still for now, and bided his time. When Ludwig was sixteen and therefore slightly less likely to get Francis locked up inadvertently, then maybe he would make a move, and risk being castrated and then decapitated by Gilbert. Ludwig was technically legal, granted, had been since he had been fourteen, but if Gilbert raised hell (and of course he would), then Francis was looking at the next ten years or so from within a cell.

No way.

He marked down the days on the calendar, impatiently awaiting Ludwig's sixteenth birthday. Goddammit, he felt like such a creep, but couldn't help it. It had become a bit of an obsession.

Francis did check in from time to time on Ludwig's relationship status however, nosily asking one day, "So, Ludwig! Have you told that guy yet that you like him?"

A blaze of red on Ludwig's face, and Ludwig shook his head.

Out of courtesy, Francis asked, "Why not?"

A low, anxious mumble.

"I'm afraid he won't like me."

Francis scoffed, and tried to assuage Ludwig's fears by saying, "Who wouldn't like _you_?"

A deeper shade of red.

Every month, Francis asked Ludwig if he had confessed to his classmate, and every month, Ludwig said 'no'. Francis was glad.

The very day Ludwig turned sixteen, Francis bought a bouquet of flowers, scribbled a note that sappily espoused Ludwig's beauty but left no signature, and left them at the schoolhouse, because he wasn't dumb enough to leave them on Gilbert's doorstep and risk Gilbert recognizing his handwriting. Had to rely on the lady in the office actually delivering them to Ludwig, and more so on her not being nosy and opening up the letter. Surely not...

He waited, impatiently. For what he couldn't say, but when the sun was starting to lower in the horizon, his phone buzzed. His stomach churned when he saw Ludwig's name.

A text.

_'I'll be at the lighthouse tomorrow night, if you want to join me.'_

Adrenaline rush, a little terror, and Francis had paced around furiously for a while, fretting and elated and scared and excited. Had Ludwig managed to deduce that the flowers had come from him?

Only one way to find out!

He didn't sleep at all that night, tossing and turning like a damn teenage girl and kicking his legs and waiting impatiently for the next evening.

Took forever, and Francis dressed himself very nicely, combed his hair perfectly, trimmed his beard as neatly as he could and used a new cologne, because he was really just a teenager too at heart, and then he gave himself a long pep-talk in the mirror before heading out to the lighthouse.

Ludwig was waiting, as promised, waving down at Francis from above, and Francis took a long scope around for Gilbert, just in case. Didn't see him, and Francis plunged in, scaling the spiral stairs with anticipation.

The sun was beginning to set.

When he reached the top of the lighthouse, Ludwig glanced over at him, and walked up to him. Was smiling, and that was quite lovely to see.

Francis just said, "Happy birthday, again. You and Gilbert have fun last night?"

"We didn't do anything," Ludwig said, looking Francis up and down. "He's waiting for this weekend."

Francis shifted his weight, nervously, and was just about to ask but was denied the chance when Ludwig opened his mouth again.

"Well! That guy I like."

Oh no—

Ludwig smiled, so prettily, and said, "He sent me flowers yesterday."

Francis' heart sank right down to his feet, and he knew that his face must have fallen, despite his best efforts to remain composed. Damn, did that ever hurt to hear. He had been stupid to put himself into this, yeah, he knew it, a kid like this. Knew better than to get emotionally attached to a flighty teenager, but it had happened all the same and hearing Ludwig mistake his gesture for someone else's stung.

Shoulda known better.

Weakly, Francis gave a short laugh, and said, "Well! See? I told ya. No one could not like you."

He lowered his eyes to the ground, and fell silent. He turned to the railing then, leaned against it, and watched the waves breaking down on the beach below as the sun grew orange as it lowered ever more. Felt quite devastated then, morose and a bit heartbroken, pitiful as it was.

Ludwig came over and settled in beside of him, so close that their shoulders touched. Didn't have the heart to look over at him.

A long, heavy silence, and then Ludwig said, "I don't understand why you didn't just sign your name, though, when you knew I would recognize your handwriting."

Oh—!

Francis inhaled and pushed off the railing, turning to face Ludwig, and opened his mouth in shock.

Ludwig leapt forward, threw his arms around Francis' neck, and kissed him, very awkwardly but certainly enthusiastically, before Francis could utter a single word. That alarm of terror went off in his head, as always, as he envisioned the myriad of ways that Gilbert was going to snuff him out of existence.

All the same, his hands flew out and grabbed Ludwig's waist, he kissed him back, because everyone died eventually, after all. For all he knew he was already dead and this was all some final hallucination, because it was quite surreal when he found himself sitting cross-legged and staring out at the sun setting over the sea, Ludwig's head rested there on his shoulder and their fingers intertwined.

The happiest he had been in a long time, be it wrong or right.

Ah, hell.

Ludwig was worth getting murdered for.

He'd gladly be Ludwig's teenage crush.


	6. MARS (RomGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : RomGer. Sassy Ludwig is best Ludwig, and mobster-wannabe Lovino is best Lovino.

**MARS**

Lovino had been a troublemaker since the day he had been born, had been aggressive and confrontational and belligerent. Liked to fight, liked to cause a ruckus, liked to break rules, liked to get into every possible kind of trouble known to mankind. Had his little gang, his own guys and his own streets, and ruled them accordingly. Lovino was the worst.

And so it had always flabbergasted Lovino that it was always Feliciano that ever got into _real_ trouble, when Feliciano was the straight arrow. Well, mostly; Feliciano had one very bad habit, but it was really kind of Lovino's fault.

Feliciano loved to gamble, and he always lost.

For the most part, Lovino had been able to get Feliciano out of trouble over the years. Feliciano was taller than Lovino was, but Lovino was by far bigger, far stronger, far rougher, gruff and obviously quite violent. Scars everywhere from fights. Feliciano was the man someone would want their daughter to bring home; Lovino was the man that every father had nightmares about.

Lovino usually just showed his face, put his cigarette out on someone's shirt, and most of Feliciano's debts were taken care of in reasonable portions.

Until that one time, when Feliciano had taken it too far.

Feliciano just knocked on Lovino's door one day, and when Lovino had opened it Feliciano was on him in a second, arms around his neck and hugging him as tightly as he could. Took Lovino a dumb second to realize that Feliciano was actually crying.

What the—

Lovino pulled back in alarm, as Feliciano cried away, and Lovino finally managed to ask, harshly, "What the hell is the matter with you? What did you do now?"

Feliciano reached up, ran his palms wearily over his face, and Lovino could see how damn tired he looked, as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

After a moment of gathering himself, Feliciano said, in a rough voice, "I just came to say goodbye, man. I love you, Lovino. You're a dick, but I love ya. I fucked up, and now I'm dead. So I just came to see you one last time."

With that, Feliciano hung his head and started crying again.

Startled and confused, Lovino reacted in the only way he really knew how, and reached out to slap Feliciano's cheek, not hard at all, just to snap him out of it. He grabbed Feliciano's shoulders, gave him a good shake, and said, "What the _hell_! Stop cryin'! You're a man; you should only cry when you're in love. Knock it off. And then tell me what the fuck is going on, 'cause you don't make any sense."

A long minute of Feliciano rubbing his eyes, but he did pull it together, stopped crying, braced himself, and stood straight and tall.

A deep, thick, "Right!"

Lovino led Feliciano inside, sat him down at the table, and Feliciano started yammering.

"I got into trouble. I, uh— I went to, uh, Napoli a few months ago. You know me, I got a bad habit. I kinda got in over my head. I lost all night, in a bad way."

Lovino twitched, because he had almost slapped Feliciano again, but stopped himself at the last second, because, well...it was kinda _his_ fault, really. He and his mobster friends had been the one to get Feliciano hooked on gambling, so maybe he couldn't really fault the dumb bastard all that much.

Feliciano's foot was tapping, furiously, as he carried on, "So, I um. I was a little drunk, and I wasn't thinking straight. Next thing I know, I'm out twenty grand and I didn't have anything, so I put up my fuckin' house, can you believe it?"

He did slap Feliciano that time, and not gently.

Feliciano took it, because he had deserved it, and met Lovino's eyes, opening his mouth to finish before Lovino could go on a rampage.

"Well, I lost again, and there went my fuckin' house! I was crying in the lobby. This guy came up to me and asked me what was wrong, and I told him, and— He walked away. I couldn't— He came back a while later, and told me that it was taken care of. I didn't know what was happening. The next thing I know, he's handing me a piece of paper with a number on it, and said not to worry about it. To call him around the end of March to see if I was ready to pay it back."

Lovino hung halfway out of his seat, shoulders braced and waiting to see if Feliciano was about to earn another slap or this time a punch.

Feliciano squinted his eyes, sniffled a little, tapped his fingers on the table, and said, "So I went back inside, and asked. That guy fuckin' paid off everything, all of it. The whole twenty thousand. So, um, so I asked the man who the guy was, if he knew him, and he laughed at me. Said, yeah! Everyone knows that guy. He's the White Death! Can you believe it? A fuckin' name like that? I nearly passed out. I ran outta there as quick I could. Oh—! Lovino, I'm fuckin' dead! How the hell can I pay that guy back? He knows where I live now, what with my house there on the damn bill. It's almost the end of March. I'm broke! I'm fucked, Lovino. The White Death! You know what's gonna happen to me, with a name like that? I'm dead, man. I'm so dead. He's waiting on me to call, and I ain't got nothing for him! I'm dead."

With that, Feliciano hung his head and tried hard not to break into tears again.

Lovino sat back down, stunned and dazed, and stared at his stupid brother for what felt like hours.

Feliciano had done a lot of dumb things, but Christ almighty, never had he done something so unbelievably stupid. He was right—he was dead. The kinda guys around here, the guys Lovino hung out with, the guys that hung around casinos like that, waitin' to pay off some drunk guy's debts.

Feliciano was dead, alright.

A surge of fear, overriding the anger.

Lovino was so shocked and taken aback then that he couldn't even rage at Feliciano, couldn't even stand up and start screaming, couldn't find the energy to punch him in the face. Just sat there and stared at him, and felt lost.

Hours later, Feliciano collapsed on Lovino's couch in exhaustion and fell asleep, and Lovino sat there at the table and tried to figure out what the hell they could even do. Couldn't just run; they'd be runnin' forever, always jumping at shadows, waiting every day to be whacked, and that was no way to live. He didn't have enough to pay back that loan, no way, and neither of them exactly had good enough standing to just pull out a random loan of that size. Lovino was good at scaring people, but even he knew there was no way in hell he would ever be able to intimidate someone called The White Death. Good god!

What could he do?

He sat there, drumming his fingers on the table, and plotted.

Had to be a way out of it, just had to be. Couldn't stomach the thought of his stupid little brother getting murdered because of a bad habit Lovino had thrown him into.

Days passed, and Lovino wracked his brain.

What he eventually came up with, unbeknownst to Feliciano, was probably the stupidest goddamn thing that had ever crossed either of their minds :

Getting a ransom.

Lovino had done very illegal things in the past, some more violent than others, but he sure as hell had never kidnapped anyone. It was the stupidest thing he could have done, more likely than not, and Lovino kinda figured that he would eventually just get both himself and Feliciano killed.

Well! Feliciano's mess, wasn't it, so their demises would be on _his_ head, not Lovino's.

The idea Lovino concocted was very stupid, but theoretically plausible. The Austrian ambassador to Italy was an extremely well known figure here in this small town, because this was where his vacation house was, and he came every single weekend to lounge about the town and spend money. Everyone loved him, naturally, for the tourist coins. Well—to be more accurate, the ambassador's wife spent money, as he usually stood beside of her and crinkled his nose, their son often with them and always trailing behind them silently.

That man was certainly made of money, more than enough to pay off what Feliciano owed that guy, and so Lovino figured he may as well kidnap the ambassador's son and get a good ransom out of him. Knew it would probably fall through, knew he would probably just get killed by the cops, but the deadline was approaching.

And goddammit, Lovino _hated_ Feliciano, thought he was the stupidest son of a bitch on Earth, but he fuckin' loved him, too, so much, and wasn't gonna just sit there and let him get whacked for being a moron. Would at least give effort, would at least try, would give it his all.

So he started following the ambassador around every weekend, observing his wife and son. Thought more about kidnapping the wife, because it seemed like it would have been easier at a glance, but she was always arm in arm with him and the son often wandered about alone.

So the son it was.

The more and more Lovino followed him, though, the more he wondered if he really _was_ their son after all, because he was so pale and blond and they were not.

Ah, didn't matter.

Lovino started stalking the son, and well! Damn. Sure was gorgeous. A good word maybe, if not a bit stupid.

Certainly was a looker, that was for sure, as Lovino tailed him silently from a distance. Tall, very blond, pale as could be and eyes very blue. Rather fit, plenty of lean muscle through his thin shirt, and Lovino had been a bit taken aback. Pretty hot, actually, and Lovino's eyes were very unabashedly on those long damn legs as he slunk behind the blond in the shadows.

Did those things go all the way up?

Not the worst waste of his time to be sure.

At least, that was, until it actually came time to kidnap the bastard, and then he went from gorgeous to obnoxious really quick. In a blink, actually.

After a good long stalking and gathering up routines, Lovino stood out one night, gun in his pocket and ready to act, feeling terrified and jittery and exhilarated.

Feliciano was gonna be the death of him.

Lovino waited on a solitary street that led out of town and back towards the house of the ambassador, and he stood by his car and waited and waited, phone held against his ear to pretend he was talking to someone for when the target in question finally came.

A half hour later, he was in sight, and Lovino started shifting and shuffling.

The man passed him, and Lovino put his phone away. They were alone on the street and the time was right, so Lovino pulled his gun, rushed up from behind, and darted in front of the blond bombshell, blocking his path.

A very offended huff, and the blond eyed him testily up and down, seemingly oblivious to the gun, and attempted to sidestep Lovino rather curtly.

Hey—!

Lovino blocked him again, and this time reached out with his left hand to press it in the blond's chest to force him to a halt. Could feel that muscle alright, and it was damn nice.

Er...

"Come with me," Lovino said, very gruffly and very threateningly.

A scoff, and then the man looked Lovino over again and said, in a very deep voice that almost startled him, "Do you mind? How rude!"

That voice kinda didn't fit that pale kid, but it was as nice as everything else. Lovino tried hard to refocus, and shoved the blond back a pace.

"Get in the car. Now."

The blond glanced over his shoulder at the said car, lifted his brow haughtily, and then said, as he turned back to Lovino, "I would rather not, thank you."

With that, he tried once more to step around Lovino, and was once more blocked.

What part of this was not being understood?

Lovino waved his gun in the blond's face, and said, harshly, "Do you not get it? Are you stupid? I'm kidnapping you."

The blond lifted his chin very primly, hip thrown out and hand resting atop it, jaw set and brow low, and then he merely said, so primly, "No, you are _not_."

Lovino's mouth fell open.

What the...?

"Yes, I _am_ ," Lovino snarled, as he pressed the gun suddenly into that broad chest, and the blond glanced down at the gun, and gave a very offended little gasp.

" _No_ ," he repeated, as he reached up to swat the gun irritably away, "You are not."

Lovino raised the gun again, stubbornly, pressed it harder into that chest, and griped, " _Yes_ , I am. Christ almighty, I get that you're a blond, but hell! Get it through that empty head a yours. Move. Now."

Dumb blond alright, if ever he had seen one. Had to be the pretty ones, didn't it?

Another offended noise, and the blond once more swatted away the gun and tried to sidestep Lovino.

Unbelievable!

This time, Lovino snatched out and grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, forcing him to a halt, and he pressed the gun into his stomach. "Get movin'!" he hissed, as he tried to drag the blond along. "Do what I say or I'll shoot you."

The blond squirmed and writhed in his grasp, trying to break free, and said, huffily, "No you won't! You just said you were kidnapping me. Which is it? Are you kidnapping me or shooting me? Make up your mind already!"

Son of a bitch.

The blond broke free, lifted his chin, and began walking away, and Lovino rolled his eyes, tucked his gun back in his pocket, and knew it was time to get real. So he ran up behind the snooty bastard as he walked away, braced his legs and clenched his fists, and he sucker-punched the blond on the back of the head, knocking him out rather efficiently.

Damn, though, if that hadn't hurt his knuckles.

A quick look around, and Lovino merely dragged the jerk over to his car and stuffed him in the backseat. That sure as hell had been harder than he had imagined. Already off to a bad start.

Why didn't anything ever go right for him?

* * *

When the blond came to in Lovino's house half an hour later, the first thing he said was, in a whining gripe, "How—how _dare_ you!"

Lovino, sitting on the couch, watching the dazed man below him pulling himself up at the waist, just rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air. Hardly intimidating, as the blond winced and rubbed the back of his head, pushing his lips out and looking so cranky. Looked so utterly inconvenienced, as if Lovino had rear-ended his car or something and made him late to a meeting. Sure as hell didn't look like a man that had just been violently kidnapped.

Lovino stared at him for a while, and then uttered, just as crankily, "Sorry, there, princess. Didn't mean to hit you that hard. You coulda just did what I told you to do, and it woulda been easier."

A sharp glare, as the man looked around and gathered his bearings, coming around and looking very alert suddenly. A long study of the house, and then his pale eyes fell on Lovino. Palest eyes he'd ever seen, now that he was able to pay attention. Pretty. Intense, though, and those eyes raked him up and down relentlessly. A prim lift of an eyebrow, and the blond huffed a sigh.

At long last, the blond truly spoke to him, chin held high and seemingly unbothered by his situation, snipping, so snootily, "Now, I don't mean to insult your obviously illustrious intelligence, but you do know who I _am_ , don't you?"

Lovino's brow quirked up, not so much by the insult but rather by how well put-together and neat the blond's words were. Was obviously very well-educated, intelligent, and Lovino merely scoffed and said, as he looked the man up and down, "Hm. Guess you're not such an airhead after all."

A face of offense.

Could certainly tell this one had been raised by a rich ambassador, alright.

Before the little jerk could say anything else, Lovino snitted, "Of course I know who you are, you dumb priss. Why the hell did you think I kidnapped you in the first place? You think I just go grabbing people at random and see what happens?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," the blond drawled.

With that, he plopped back onto the floor, arms lax at his sides, and stared up at the ceiling. Lovino used the opportunity to run his eyes over that nice chest and long legs. Why not? May as well look while he could, before he inevitably got gunned down by the damn cops when everything went to hell.

Had very little faith in this plan, and apparently his victim did, too.

The blond turned his head sideways, scrutinized Lovino, and asked, "May I go now?"

"No."

A narrowing of those pale eyes and a look of irritation.

"Well then," came the snippy response, "You could at least show some manners and introduce yourself. Invite me to sit down. Offer me something to drink. You know, typical etiquette when you have a guest over."

Lovino just stared at him, condescendingly, and didn't utter a word.

The blond made a noise of displeasure, and said, "My name is Ludwig, if you didn't know. And you are...?"

"Not a chance," Lovino snapped.

"Rude," Ludwig chided.

A short silence, and then Ludwig sat up at the waist again, and once more raked Lovino up and down with those sharp eyes. Could have sworn, for just a moment, that the dumb blond might have actually cracked a little bit of a smile.

Anxious and scared but also very egotistical, Lovino sat up straight, squared his shoulders, and tried to look as big and intimidating as possible, tried to puff out and look stern, because someone very good-looking was giving him an eyeballing.

Eh, he was probably dead before the end of the night, so may as well flex a little and do a little ogling in turn.

Ludwig seemed content enough to stare, not scared at all, the jerk, and before long he pulled himself to his feet and collapsed down onto the couch right next to Lovino. So closely that there was hardly a gap between them at all.

Well, damn!

Lovino sat up ever straighter, reached up to smooth back strands of his hair that had fallen loose in his tussle, and glanced frequently at Ludwig as Ludwig stared at him very intently.

...what was happening again?

Ludwig's pale eyes lowered to his chest, he seemed to be observing Lovino's chest hair poking out of the top of his open collar, and then his eyes drifted downward. Lovino was squirming a little under that prying gaze, and yet sure as hell wasn't exactly complaining.

Ludwig twisted at the side, crossed his legs neatly, and lowered his voice into an exceptionally seductive rumble when he uttered, "Pity you chose the criminal route. I think you perhaps could have made a living in the movies. I can very easily see you playing some Mafioso in a film. You do have that look about you."

Lovino opened his mouth, and lost his voice.

Ah...

At his silence, Ludwig continued his very serious staring, quite overwhelming in his intensity, and he added, "So, then. What exactly are your plans with me?"

That tone of voice very nearly made Lovino blush, and Lovino couldn't remember the last time he had blushed.

Lovino sat there, stupidly, staring at Ludwig and swallowing compulsively, and then he heard himself utter, gruffly, "I, um— I forgot what I was doing."

Hadn't meant to say that.

Ludwig lifted his chin, appearing very perfectly deadpan serious, and uttered, "You really should try to be a bit more professional. I do detest when people don't give their very best efforts to their tasks. Discipline, after all, is the true backbone of society."

Lovino stared at Ludwig, a bit distracted by his handsome face and how close he was leaning forward, and grunted, " _Forgive_ me. I ain't never kidnapped anyone before."

Shit! Hadn't meant to say that, either.

Ludwig lidded his eyes, looked Lovino up and down yet again, crept a little closer, and practically purred, "How lucky I am. I feel positively unparalleled."

Caught in those eyes, Lovino just swallowed again, and said, so dumbly, "How the fuck is your Italian better than _mine_?"

Ludwig snorted, and reached out to bump the tip of Lovino's nose with one of his long fingers.

"The perk of being raised by the ambassador to Italy, I suppose. Being more intelligent than you also gives me a bit of an advantage, as well. No offense."

Stupidly, pathetically, Lovino muttered, "None taken."

Could feel the warmth emanating from that well-built torso, and that pretty face got closer and closer every second, and damn, he woulda done just about anything to—

Wait!

No, no, wait, hold up.

Lovino leapt to his feet very abruptly, blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his head, and backed up to put a good bit of distance between them. He wasn't stupid; this jerk was just tryin' to seduce him so he could get the hell outta here, so he could escape.

No way. Feliciano's life hung in the balance.

Ludwig seemed rather disappointed at Lovino fleeing from him, and stood up quite gracefully. Without being entirely aware of it, Lovino's eyes once more flew to those long legs and then back up. Was he in over his head with this one? Seemed like he was in over his head.

Ludwig took a step towards him, and said, calmly, "You never did tell me your name."

Lovino opened his mouth, and choked again.

Couldn't seem to remember what the hell he was even doing.

A sudden ringing of a phone then, and it was clearly Ludwig's. Ludwig pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at it, and Lovino snatched it quickly away, and saw Roderich's name there. Ah, that was it! Right! Kidnapping this asshole. Perfect! He scrounged his gun out of his pocket, pointed it at Ludwig, tossed him the phone, and said, harshly, "Answer it! Tell him you're in trouble and that you need him to send you some money."

Ludwig merely stared at Lovino through lidded eyes, very bored now from the look of him, and it was with a huffy sigh that Ludwig answered the call, drifting over to sit down on the couch as Lovino followed him with the gun.

"Hello?"

Lovino waited, bristled up with anticipation and fear and adrenaline, and Ludwig suddenly leaned back into the couch, saying, "Yeah! I saw that there. I was gonna take a picture and send it to you. I thought you'd like it. It would make a good gift for Erzsébet."

Lovino's mouth dropped open.

Ludwig's voice was so casual, so unbothered, and he reminded Lovino very much of a schoolgirl then, splayed on the couch and chitchatting carelessly with his friends. Didn't even care about the gun pointed at him at all.

Ludwig laughed, and said, with a slanted smile, "Nah, I'm fine. I'm with a friend. ...nah. I'll probably just spend the night."

Furiously, Lovino pressed the gun into Ludwig's neck, leaning down and hissing, "Tell him! Now!"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes and swatted the gun away yet again, the look on his face very much that of a teenage girl, alright, and it clearly said, ' _god_ , dad, I'm on the phone, go _away_!'

This little punk—

As he repeatedly shoved the gun away from his neck and head, Ludwig gave another laugh, and then said, far too happily, "Okay. I will. ... _alright_ , I will! Promise. Don't worry. Okay, see you later. Bye. Yeah. Love you, too. Night."

With that, Ludwig hung up the phone, leaned back into the couch, arms behind his head, and turned to look at Lovino.

"Well," he said, with no hint of worry. "It would appear that I'm your guest tonight. Maybe be a little more courteous, mm?"

Oh, how Lovino hated this man.

Lovino grabbed his gun in both hands, pressed it sideways into his forehead as he groaned in absolute frustration, and when he finally opened his eyes a minute later, Ludwig was ever staring at him.

"Feeling alright?" came the very unconcerned inquiry.

Lovino wasn't certain then if he wanted to cry or scream.

Probably both, and he tucked the gun once more in his pocket, went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table, head in his hands. What the hell was he really doing? He was clueless, he really was. Didn't exactly have the heart for this. Was in so far, well beyond his limits.

He had just wanted to save Feliciano.

A step on the tile, the scrape of a chair, and Ludwig was suddenly sitting there beside of him, perpetually gazing at him and very, very unafraid of his entire situation. Lovino just rested his chin in his palm, and glowered silently at this pain in the ass.

Unbothered, Ludwig suddenly leaned over, very close to him, and smiled just a little. More of a leer, really.

"Forgive me," Ludwig said, lowly and sultrily. "I don't get out very often. Between Roderich and my brother, I'm never allowed to go anywhere or meet people. I do get so bored. Locked up all the time, you know."

Ludwig's index and middle finger walked their way up Lovino's shirt as he spoke, as Lovino sat there dumbly, jaw clamped and swallowing. When Ludwig used those long fingers to undo the first clasped button of his shirt, Lovino woke up, inhaled, and jumped up from the table.

"Hey!" he barked, commandingly. "Knock it off! I ain't that stupid. You're not getting out of here so easily."

Ludwig's eyelids fluttered in annoyance, he sneered, and Lovino tried to clear his head and refocus.

"Oh," Ludwig drawled, blandly, "I do believe you _are_ that stupid. All brawn, aren't you. Good thing you're so handsome. I could have gotten out of here several times already had I wanted to."

Bullshit.

Handsome, eh—

No, no, wait. Stop it.

Before Lovino could start bitching, Ludwig added, prissily, "I mean, come now. Let us think this over. You kidnap me, in a very disorganized manner may I say, you bring me to a house that is very clearly either yours or a family member's. So, no secrecy there. On top of that, your phone is very clearly your own, what with that case on it. So any calls you make are going to be very easily traced, and right back here. That gun, too, is probably legal and registered in your name, because if you were too stupid to not buy a new phone then why in god's name would you bother with a new gun, and then let's talk about the biggest issue of all : that you seriously and honestly thought a man like _Roderich_ would part with any amount of money and just lay it out on the street for you. I can assure you, having been raised by Roderich, that he would go through hell and back not to spend a single coin on this nonsense. He'd rather just call me and tell me to get myself out of this mess than give you money. Of course, with me being of rather high importance, if only through Roderich, the police would find you in a second, because you are, to put not too fine a point on it, entirely and hopelessly incompetent. Did I forget something? Oh! Yes. The spot where you kidnapped me from has many cameras hidden up under the gutters of the buildings. Because Roderich comes here so frequently, he requested that all streets leading to our home have coverage. For his peace of mind. He's a very paranoid man. So, of course, your vehicle will be there in plain sight as well your face. There. Satisfied?"

Lovino stood there, utterly annihilated.

Whew, talk about a crash to reality.

And it hurt like hell, too, because it was like watching Feliciano slip right through his fingers, and all anger faded in that moment into an awful flash of despair. His face crumpled, he inhaled sharply, bowed his head, and it took all of his strength then not to dissolve into tears.

Had let the little bastard down again.

A long silence, as Lovino foundered, and when Ludwig spoke again, his voice was a very deep rumble, quite soothing, and much gentler.

"Why are you doing this? What brought you to this?"

Lovino shook his head, momentarily unable to speak.

Ludwig stood very still and very silent, waiting for Lovino to compose himself, and when Lovino finally lifted his heavy head, Ludwig tried, ever softer, "Are you in trouble?"

"Not me," Lovino finally managed, roughly. "My brother."

"What did he do?"

Lovino stumbled over to the sofa and threw himself down, as Ludwig stood over him.

Felt so damn dumb.

"He owes a guy a lot of money. He's gonna get killed if he doesn't pay it back."

"How much money?"

"Twenty thousand Euros."

A noise of interest from Ludwig, who rested his hand on his hip.

"Indeed. To whom does he owe it? Do you know?"

Didn't know why he was bothering to even tell Ludwig. Maybe just to relieve some of this awful stress.

Lovino shook his head, grumbling, "I dunno his real name. Some guy just paid off his debt and then gave him until the end of this month to pay him back. Down in Napoli. I don't know who he is. Just some guy called the White Death. Pfft—fuckin' name like that."

He glanced up at Ludwig then, and was startled.

A long look of absolute shock. Silence.

And then Ludwig suddenly threw his head back and burst into helpless laughter, very loudly and very sincerely, and Lovino was already pissed off. Ludwig couldn't stop laughing, wheezing and eyes watering, and Lovino watched him crankily, shaking his head and shifting his weight.

What an asshole. Hated this guy. No matter how hot he was.

Ludwig laughed for a very long time, and when he could speak again, as he wiped his eyes and rubbed at his chest, all he said was, "Hey, I know that guy."

Lovino wrenched himself up to his feet, that rush of desperation rising up, and he grabbed Ludwig by the arms to shake him very enthusiastically, crying, "No shit! You really fuckin' know him? Huh? You really know that guy?"

Was positively bristling, praying to god that if nothing else maybe Ludwig could talk that guy into at least not murdering Feliciano.

Ludwig watched him, smiling breathlessly yet, and didn't seem bothered by Lovino trying to shake the life out of him.

Ludwig glanced down at Lovino's hands gripping him, back up, and said, far too casually, "Oh, yes, I know him very well. We grew up together. He's my brother."

Oh _shit_ —!

Lovino fell deathly still, gawking at Ludwig in what very well could have been horror. Paralyzed then, shocked and stunned, and Lovino wondered if he was being had. The other son of the Austrian ambassador, a deadly loan shark? That didn't make any fuckin' sense at all, none, but Lovino was too dumbfounded to find his voice to ask questions.

Ludwig was suddenly reaching out and grabbing his shirt, and that time Lovino was just too stupefied to really pull away from him, and hell, why even bother? He had been entirely defeated, had no upper hand whatsoever, and this entire venture had been stopped short. Ludwig had him where he wanted, which was strange because this entire thing was Lovino's plot. Had been turned into a captive by his own victim.

Ludwig gave Lovino a more sincere smile then, and suddenly rumbled, soothingly, "Don't worry about it. Consider it taken care of. Nothing is going to happen to your brother. On my word. I know how to handle my _own_ brother."

A rush of adrenaline.

Elation.

Ludwig tilted his head a bit, narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Lovino, and muttered, mostly to himself, "For such a jerk, you did go through a lot of trouble. I suppose we put up with a lot for brotherly love."

"You have no idea," Lovino uttered, gruffly, as Ludwig looked him up and down, his hands still clenched in Lovino's shirt.

Suddenly...

Lovino realized that he had absolutely nothing to gain, and nothing more to lose, and if Feliciano wasn't gonna be murdered then fuck it, this guy was comin' on to him strong and was extremely attractive, and he didn't see the point in wasting the opportunity.

He pulled Ludwig in until they were chest to chest, and Ludwig perked right up, smiling quite widely and obviously feeling self-satisfied, quick to turn his hands instead to yanking Lovino's tucked shirt out of his pants and underneath. He fell back onto the couch, still gripping Ludwig's arms, and so Ludwig had no choice but to fall right down with him. And no resistance whatsoever was offered, naturally, since Ludwig had been hitting on Lovino the entire damn night.

When Ludwig was straddling him and Lovino was breathing through his mouth, he finally thought to ask, perhaps snidely, "So, you must be hard up, huh? Comin' on to a guy that knocked you out and kidnapped you."

Ludwig was very unbothered by the jab, and tossed back his own.

"If you call _this_ a kidnapping! I think of it as more of a pity lay, as you've failed in everything you've tried."

That stung a little bit, and he clenched a fist up in Ludwig's hair and gave it a very painful twist.

"Think I'm the one about to perform a pity lay, since you can't keep your hands offa me. Pretty sad."

Ludwig hissed as Lovino tried hard to rip his hair right out of his head or snap his neck, and managed to gasp, "Then stop talking about it and _do_ it already. Talk, talk, that's all you seem to be good for!"

Lovino scoffed, way too warm and feeling extremely uncomfortable beneath squirming Ludwig, and he said, in a bit of a daze, "What are you on, and where can I get some?"

Crazy bastard! Took some kinda piece of work to try to seduce the man that had kidnapped him. Knew that some people liked danger, liked the 'bad boys' as it was, but damn was this ever taking it far. By all rights, he shouldn't have been complaining.

...he really wasn't complaining, at all, because Ludwig suddenly grabbed his face and kissed him.

This kid had some nerve, for sure, and Lovino hated that but was also very seduced by it.

Needless to say, Lovino was only a man, and men were easily led astray. Feliciano seemed fairly safe, if Ludwig's word could be trusted, and so Lovino clung to that hope and threw Ludwig backwards onto the floor. Knocked the wind out of him, but that was better because he couldn't squirm away when Lovino crawled on top of him.

As if he would have, from the way Ludwig had been coming onto him.

Surely enough, Ludwig was very cooperative, very placid and very willing to let Lovino do as he pleased.

That was a fun hour or two, Lovino clenched in the vice of Ludwig's long legs and running his hands over firm muscle. Still had a bit of charm about him, apparently, to get his hands on this one. A good ego boost. Had to have appealed to Ludwig in some sense, be it physically or for his violence. That, or Ludwig really was just that hard up.

Probably should have dragged that hour on a lot longer, because it was only a few minutes after Lovino had collapsed atop Ludwig that Ludwig opened his mouth and started tearing Lovino apart again, if not more gently.

"By the way," Ludwig uttered, as he ran fingers through Lovino's damp hair, "You did all of this for nothing."

Lovino pulled back, and grunted, "Huh?"

Ludwig's condescending, soul-crushing sneer was rather painful.

"My brother is harmless. He's a Kriegsmarine! Who did you think he was? He's never hurt anybody."

What?

Lovino's mouth fell open, his brow crinkled and his eyes widened, and he sputtered, dumbly, "Bullshit! Never hurt anybody? No one gets called the White Death for no fuckin' reason!"

Ludwig gave a little laugh that Lovino was so certain was a giggle, the bastard, and waved him off, drawling, "He's a marine. He's also albino. His battleship docked once off of South Africa. There were quite a few great whites out there, and the first thing Gilbert did when they disembarked was to go cage-diving with the sharks. The other men teased him that the sharks thought he was one of them, because he's so white. So, they just sort of called him that afterwards. He's a jerk, just like you, and so of course he loved it. The White Death! Ha! Silly, isn't it?"

"No, it's fuckin' terrifying," Lovino griped, irritably, pushed up on his palms to glare down.

Ludwig was unbothered, as always, and reached up to tousle Lovino's hair until it was sticking out every which way.

Lovino tried to murder Ludwig with his eyes, failed, and instead grunted, "So! What the hell is he doin', then, scaring the living daylights outta dumbasses like my brother? Who the hell pays off that kinda money without being dangerous? Huh? Makes no sense."

Ludwig ran his hands down Lovino's chest, very effectively diffusing his annoyance, and said, "I mean no offense, naturally, when I say this. But we're exceptionally lucky to be very well off. Twenty thousand Euros is a rather paltry sum for us. Gilbert saw someone in need and decided to be a good guy. For once."

Not entirely sold on Ludwig's brother's innocence, Lovino asked, "So then why did he give his number to my brother and tell him to call him at the end of this month, huh? If he's such a white knight."

Ludwig gave a quick noise of thought, hands ever running over Lovino, and then replied, "Growing up, Roderich always taught us that if we ever were to give someone money that was far worse off than we are, then to always do so with the suggestion that of course one day it will be repaid, even if we don't expect it to be. He said that it spares a man's pride, to be given a loan rather than a handout. So that's what we've always done. Gilbert of course would never expect to be repaid such a sum, but let the offer stand. Apologies if your brother misunderstood so terribly. It certainly wouldn't have been Gilbert's intent. He just wanted to help and didn't want your brother to have a wounded ego."

Well, shit. Feliciano had always been stupid, so that really shouldn't have surprised Lovino at all.

Still. Seemed like a very grand act of charity. Maybe Lovino was just an asshole with no love of humanity, but he just didn't get it, and said as much.

"I don't get it. Why would he help someone like that in such a big way, huh? You two just like to go around playin' Robin Hood or something? Your dad can't be too happy about shelling out all'a that money."

Ludwig snorted.

"Indeed! He's not. Needless to say, it's a very rare occasion. Your brother must have been very pitiful indeed, to illicit sympathy from _Gilbert_ , of all people."

Well, that was fair. Feliciano was actually exceptionally pitiful.

"And," Ludwig quickly added, "Gilbert and I were adopted by Roderich. Our parents died, and Roderich took us in. He didn't have to. So, sometimes, Gilbert and I try to help other people, too. Roderich hates losing money, but he's a good man and knows why we do it."

Meh. Buncha jerks.

Lovino rolled off of Ludwig, sat there for a while, and felt kinda dumb.

Ludwig stood up and wandered off, searching for the shower, humming the entire while, and Lovino heaved a great sigh and testily dressed himself and plopped face-first on the couch.

Hated that jerk, but was damn grateful for him.

Now he just needed to threaten Feliciano's life himself, to make sure the great goddamn idiot never went back inside of another casino ever again. Would chop his damn hands off if he had to.

He drifted into sleep for a while, exhausted from his arduous ordeal, as Ludwig took over his house and ransacked his cabinets. Eh. Let the bastard do what he wanted. He hated saying he owed the creep.

Morning came before long, and Lovino sat up and looked around and realized what a damn idiot he actually was, when he pondered back over the prior night with a clear head and full understanding. Ludwig peered at him from the kitchen table, coffee in hand, and very happily chirped, "Morning!"

Lovino grimaced.

Lovino thought about picking up the phone to call Feliciano and tell him that he was not, in fact, going to be murdered, but when Ludwig started eyeing him up and down again and left the kitchen behind to begin creeping over, Lovino cast the idea out of his head and just let Ludwig straddle him. Let the bastard squirm a little. Deserved that, for being stupid.

He had better things to do.

Ludwig, in particular.

Ludwig wrapped his arms around Lovino's neck, and said, rather smarmily, "Well, I know how I'll be spending my weekends down here now."

"Ditto," Lovino grumbled.

Hated this man, absolutely, and wanted to see him again for it.

Every once in a blue moon, Feliciano was useful.


	7. READ ALL ABOUT IT (DenGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : DenGer. My headcanon Denmark is an asshole obsessed with Shakespeare, and nothing any of you can say or do will ever change that. ):/

**READ ALL ABOUT IT**

Ludwig had always been fascinated in a way that so many countries still had monarchs.

Living right on the line with Denmark, it sometimes tickled Ludwig to walk across the border for an outing and think to himself that he was no longer in a democracy but a monarchy. Knew of course that it wasn't truly that way, but it was fun to say all the same. Amusing, to think of himself being under the rule of a king, regardless of how much power that king may have had.

The Danish royal family was utterly unknown to Ludwig. Didn't know their names, aside from the King himself of course, and didn't know what they looked like.

Ludwig had yet to see a royal, from any country, and yet he had come close once, surely, because one day he had been sitting outside a café on the Danish side of the border and had heard people whispering and talking about the Prince walking nearby. Ludwig had looked up, naturally, but didn't know what the man looked like and simply couldn't be bothered to get up and actually put in effort to find out.

Gråsten Palace was quite nearby, and so it wasn't anything unusual down here in the Jutland to have one of the royals strolling about, although Ludwig was under the impression it wasn't a very frequented palace. As if he knew anything about them.

Lost interest after a while, turning his eyes back down to his book.

Shortly after, he wandered off into the streets, mindful of the snow and ice on the sidewalk. As he often did in his evenings, he made his way to his favorite bookshop. A little place, two levels, and he always sat himself in the chair by the window that overlooked the sea. He stayed there for an hour or two and read, speaking to no one and rarely looking up. He picked books that lied towards the classical end of the spectrum, sometimes Homer and sometimes Shakespeare, sometimes Plato or Aristotle, Hugo, and then at other times he would peruse the books on history, war, science and engineering. Depended on how he was feeling.

No one ever bothered him.

That night, however, he seemed to attract someone's attention.

A movement before his eyes, as someone sat down on the loveseat against the window, next to Ludwig's chair. Ludwig didn't glance up, because people sat there all the time, and thought nothing at all about it until a low voice uttered, "What's your favorite?"

Ludwig lifted his eyes up over his book, to see a man sitting there, looking at him. Assumed he was looking at him, anyway, given that he was very absurdly wearing sunglasses indoors. Splayed out there on the loveseat very arrogantly, legs spread and arms folded behind his head, his entire stance oozed smugness and ego, and for an awful moment Ludwig thought that Gilbert had dyed his hair dark blond and had come to torment him a little.

Sure as hell sat just like Gilbert did.

The position of a man who was feeling very confident and self-satisfied.

Ludwig just grunted, dumbly, "Huh?"

The man inclined his head to the book in Ludwig's hands.

"Shakespeare. What's your favorite?"

Oh.

Feeling his stranger-danger alarm going off, the one Gilbert had beaten into his head as a child, Ludwig shifted anxiously and finally managed to grumble, "Titus Andronicus. I guess."

He meant to leave it there, but the man just scoffed a little, arms yet behind his head in lofty casualness, and after a short second he said, in a rather handsome voice, "'We will solicit heaven and move the gods, to send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.' Good choice. I'm sick of people saying Romeo and Juliet."

...huh.

Was rather jarring, to put that smarmy stance to someone who could so effortlessly quote Shakespeare from memory. Two things that didn't seem to go hand in hand. Gilbert surely would never have been caught dead reading Shakespeare, and had a gun been pressed against his head Gilbert would have read one line and then thrown his hands in the air to say, apathetically, 'Just fuckin' shoot me.'

Guess some arrogant jerks had a little class.

Ludwig sat there silently still, uncertain of what to do or say, and at his helpless look the man sat up straight and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What?" the man finally asked, pryingly. "You want me to leave you alone?"

Yes! Could hear Gilbert's voice in his head, he swore it, like he was fifteen again.

_'Goddammit, Lutz, you're gettin' too cute, that's a problem. You gotta watch out for people, man, they're gonna be creepin' on ya. Don't ever fuckin' take a drink from a strange guy at the bar or else you're gonna wake up in the back of some truck—'_

Ugh. A little much, actually.

Ludwig looked the man up and down, and then said, a bit primly, "Forgive me for being cautious. Only a certain type of man wears sunglasses in winter indoors."

A barked laugh, rough and rather charming, and the man reached up, pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and Ludwig could see him clearly for the first time.

Oh dear—certainly a remarkably handsome fellow. Wow. Come to think, could possibly say this was the most handsome man he had ever seen in his life. Taken aback and rather speechless, Ludwig just stared, and the man stared back at him.

Very pretty eyes, deep blue and with very heavy lashes, jaw strong and chiseled, nose very straight and narrow, chin covered with light facial hair. His hair was messy as hell, but everything else about him was very neat and very well-kept. His sideburns were immaculately trimmed. His clothes were expensive and well-pressed. His shoes shined.

That watch on his wrist must have cost a fortune.

Gorgeous, actually.

Was this guy an actor or something? Would explain not only the exquisite looks but also the sunglasses.

Feeling very self-conscious and sub-par and bland, Ludwig shifted his weight, and sat up straight, book clenched up in his lap. Stranger-danger became a little less potent, shallow though that may have been on his part. He was only human, after all, and handsome and intelligent was always a winning combination.

The man looked Ludwig up and down, clasped his hands atop his knees, and drawled, "Better?"

Ludwig tried to appear aloof and uninterested, although he kinda was interested, and turned his eyes back down to his book, with a pert, "I suppose."

A snort.

What was he supposed to do? Make conversation or something? He wasn't good at that, was utterly inept, and the man kept on looking him up and down and making him squirm.

When Ludwig failed to offer a word, the man tried, "You come here a lot?"

Lifting a shoulder anxiously, Ludwig grumbled, "A few times a week."

The man smiled a little, rather charmingly, and tried to direct conversation as Ludwig continued to be very difficult.

"Your accent is cute. You German? Live on the other side of the border?"

Ludwig nodded.

The man's smile grew wider, as he seemed to enjoy the challenge Ludwig was providing rather than being put off by it.

"Say. You have some free time? Wanna go have a drink?"

Ludwig was very torn. Half of him very much wanted to indeed have a drink with this gorgeous guy, and the other half of him wanted to run away screaming. In the end, cowardice took over, and Ludwig said, weakly, "I can't. I was about to head home soon."

The man's brow lifted, and Ludwig stood up, put his books away, and fled very quickly.

Considered it done and over with by the time he walked back home and trudged inside, where Gilbert was lying on the couch and watching the television. A glance at him, a sudden feeling of melancholy, and Ludwig momentarily regretted that he had refused. Felt then as if he had missed a once in a lifetime opportunity, a guy like that, and hated that it was Gilbert's constant warnings that may have swayed him.

Oh, well. Too late.

Ludwig went about his business, as he always did.

Three days later, he went back to that bookstore without a second thought, because it was habit. Never thought he would see that guy again. He took his usual spot, this time with a book on aeronautics, and huddled up.

His shock was profound when someone plopped down there beside of him on that loveseat, and he glanced up to see that same guy from before, smiling away. This time, his sunglasses were already perched atop his messy hair, and Ludwig gawked at him in awe.

"You do come here, then. Good. I was waiting, but you didn't show for a few days. Thought you were avoiding me."

As the man had spoken, Ludwig had subconsciously lifted his book up quite defensively, until only his eyes were visible from atop it. They were likely quite wide, and the man was suddenly very nearly sneering at him, stance as arrogant as it had been the last time.

"So!" he asked, as Ludwig peered at him. "How's a drink sound today? Do you have more time?"

Because he had regretted not accepting the last time, and also because he was slightly flattered in spite of the fear, Ludwig thought about it for a moment, and then just nodded his head.

The man lit up a little, and happily reached out his hand, "Great. I'm Magnus. Nice to meet you."

Ludwig lowered the book, took the offered hand, and grunted, "Ludwig."

Magnus. Magnus was every bit as handsome as Ludwig remembered, dressed just as nicely, everything about him screaming 'expensive', and yet he still hadn't combed his damn hair, and that was irritating Ludwig on the most basic of levels. Wanted desperately to grab a brush and pounce on Magnus furiously.

"So, Ludwig. There's a little bar I like right down the street. Shall we? I would not wish any companion in the world but you."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes a little, mistrustful and suspicious as he always was, and griped, "Are you going to quote Shakespeare at me all night?"

Magnus was kind of a jerk at a glance, but attractive. In hindsight, he shouldn't have recognized that line, perhaps, because Magnus smiled very widely, seemed ever more bolstered and eager, seemed more intent and focused.

Magnus was certainly bold and outgoing, had no shame at all, apparently no lack of confidence, and when Magnus pulled himself to his feet, he offered, so smoothly, "Well, it's usually served me pretty well. But hey—just so we're clear, and there's no misunderstandings, because I like to avoid those now when I can; I am interested in you romantically, not as a bar buddy. So if I'm barkin' up the wrong tree, lettin' me know now would be kinda nice, so we don't waste each other's time."

Cut right to the chase, Magnus.

Ludwig's face blazed furiously red, and he couldn't hide it with his book this time, helpless and exposed under Magnus' gaze. He stared up at Magnus silently, a bit terrified and overwhelmed, but also holy shit—

Dumbly, Ludwig nodded again.

Magnus quirked a brow, raised his hands out at his sides inquisitively, and prodded, "Yes I'm barkin' up the wrong tree, or yes you'll have a drink with me?"

Oh.

Ludwig pulled himself clumsily to his feet, pinned down by Magnus' pretty eyes, and finally fumbled, pathetically, "No, I'll— I'll have a drink with you."

Magnus' smile looked rather triumphant, and Ludwig realized right off he was likely in over his head with a bold man like this. Magnus began walking, and Ludwig had no choice then but to follow.

The bar Magnus apparently liked was underground. Dimly lit and rather cozy, all things considered, and Magnus was very quick to huddle up at a little table in the corner, back to the door, and hunker down, leaving Ludwig trapped in the corner up against the wall.

Escape wasn't exactly high on his list of priorities.

When the beer came, Magnus loosened up, and began his interrogation.

"So, you just like to spend your free time in Denmark, Ludwig? Like it better here than in Germany?"

Ludwig chugged his beer as quickly as he could, in desperate need of liquid courage, and managed, "I don't know. It's just different, I guess. I like using a different currency. It sounds stupid, but it's kinda fun. Going into a monarchy right next door, you know. I can walk a few minutes and go back in time a little."

Magnus snorted, and made no comment on how stupid Ludwig's fancy for foreign currency and kings may have been. Rather, Magnus said, "Fair. Guess we're used to it. So. How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"What do you do for a living, if ya don't mind my asking?"

A twinge of unease, embarrassment, as Ludwig's eyes fell briefly to Magnus' very expensive watch and clothing.

"Nothing special," he grumbled. "I work in a bakery."

Magnus' brow lifted, he gave Ludwig a very intense look-over, and then he laughed.

"Didn't see that coming! You kinda looked like a cop to me, firefighter maybe. Nice. Well, before you bother asking; I'm thirty-two, and I do a little of this and that, here and there. I come down here for a few months a year, but I live in Copenhagen for the most part. I like it down here more, though. Especially now."

Magnus really knew how to get to the point of things very quickly, and Ludwig rather liked that, because it saved him the small talk.

Still, Ludwig did pry, "This and that?"

Magnus ran a hand through his messy hair, waved it casually, and said, "You know. A little public relations here, a little humanitarianism there. Stuff like that."

Hm. Vague.

Ludwig, nervous still, offered, "I thought maybe you were an actor or something."

Magnus seemed very flattered, and splayed out arrogantly as he had there in the shop. Ludwig resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

They drank for a while, getting to know each other a bit, and when their faces were red and they were feeling the beer, Magnus rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward to say, very eagerly, "Wanna go out again tomorrow night? We don't have to drink. We can go for a walk or something. I'm ready for the second date."

Ludwig squirmed, blushed, writhed, and very pathetically nearly squeaked when he said, "Already? The first date isn't even over. You don't want a few days to think about it? Decide if you like me?"

"I already like you," Magnus said, without missing a beat.

A rush of adrenaline, ego, vanity, and Ludwig might have been smiling a little.

"A little quick, don't you think?"

Magnus leered over at him, eyes lidded with tipsiness, and after a long search of Ludwig's equally red face, he drawled, so smarmily, "Ah, yeah, but who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"

Ludwig did roll his eyes that time, scoffed, and grumbled, "You're a showoff, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

The rest of the night passed in similar fashion, with Magnus showing off extra hard, and then Magnus walked him to the border. They exchanged numbers, parted ways, and Ludwig went home smiling away.

Gilbert was waiting for him at the kitchen table, and seemed relieved when he showed up.

"There you are! You're late. You're never late. You didn't answer my text."

"Sorry," Ludwig slurred, as Gilbert eyed him suspiciously. "I had a drink with a friend."

"First of all," Gilbert chided, "That's more than one drink. Second of all, you don't _have_ any friends, you little bastard. What are you up to?"

Ludwig waved protective Gilbert off, and escaped him.

God knew Gilbert would pitch a fit if he knew Ludwig had been asked on a date by some weirdo that wore sunglasses indoors. Didn't want that lecture now, because he was feeling pretty happy.

The next day, after work, Ludwig called Magnus and they met up at the border. They walked through the town and then down to the sea, chatted for a few hours, and Magnus reached out frequently to shove at his shoulder amicably, but probably because Ludwig blushed every time and Magnus liked seeing him squirm.

Gilbert was waiting for him again that night, once more eyeing him suspiciously, and Ludwig's inability to stop smiling had Gilbert on high alert.

The third date, Magnus took him to a nice little restaurant on the second level of a building, overlooking the sea. They sat and chatted, as always, and Ludwig looked down at his phone to see a text from Gilbert. He snorted when he read it.

_'You better not have a boyfriend you asshole. Send me a pic of where you are or I'll come looking for you.'_

Oh, Gilbert.

Gilbert was a pain in the ass, and Ludwig went through far more trouble than he should have to rearrange the table and shove Magnus far out of view when he took a nice picture of the table in front of the sea. Magnus found it amusing.

The fourth date was in a café, on a Saturday afternoon. They had lunch there, as always tucked into the corner. Magnus seemed to love the corner tables, and always sat with his back to the door. Guess he liked his privacy, and Ludwig understood that so never questioned it.

For being so bold and domineering, though, Magnus had yet to really lift his hand, and they hadn't kissed yet. Ludwig found himself rather disappointed, because he sure as hell wasn't making the first move.

That day, there was a little excitement, as Ludwig played with his coffee.

Snow was falling very heavily outside.

Whispering suddenly.

Ludwig heard a girl gasp, from the other end of the café, "Look! The Prince!"

Indeed? Ludwig perked up instantly, scanning the café with intense interest, because of course everyone wanted to see a royal face to face at least once in their lives. Something to brag about, however stupid it may have been.

Of course, Ludwig didn't know what he was looking for, because he didn't know what the Prince looked like, and after a useless scope, he leaned across the table to place his hand briefly atop Magnus' to grab his attention.

Magnus snatched his hand instantly, like a spider on a fly, and held it there atop the table. Ludwig blazed red, and momentarily forgot what he had been doing, as Magnus' large hand was very warm.

When his brain started working again, he asked, "Which one is the Prince?"

He turned his gaze above Magnus' head, waiting for Magnus to follow his eyes and pinpoint the royal apparent, but Magnus seemed hardly interested, and merely grunted, "I dunno," without once releasing Ludwig's hand.

Ludwig frowned a bit in disappointment, but was distracted easily enough when Magnus leaned forward and muttered, eagerly, "Hey. Wanna hang out with me tonight? I like all these dinner dates, but I'd kinda like a more private one, if it's all the same."

The Prince nearby was instantly forgotten.

"Sounds great," Ludwig said, and Magnus seemed relieved.

When Magnus put back his coffee as quickly as he could, however, very silently urging Ludwig to hurry up, Ludwig did find it odd. Odder yet was when Magnus was suddenly leading him out of the café and back onto the street, into the raging snow, sunglasses down again.

Eh. Weirdo, alright.

"I have a little apartment nearby I rented. Wanna come over for a while?"

Ludwig nodded.

Magnus perked up, happily, and that time he reached out and slung his arm over Ludwig's shoulder.

That rush was powerful.

Ludwig was so distracted by Magnus that he no longer watched where he put his feet, and very promptly paid for it by slipping on the ice and nearly planting face-first on the sidewalk. Saved by Magnus at the last second, as he snatched out and grabbed Ludwig by the arm and waist to hold him steady. Had seen his damn life flash before his eyes for a moment there, and would have been more embarrassed if Magnus hadn't been smirking away at him like that.

"Falling head over heels for me, huh? Yeah, I saw that coming. Good thing I was ready."

An awful burn on his face, and Ludwig very quickly straightened up and shook it off, lifted his chin, and carried on, neatly ignoring Magnus.

Oh, dear god in heaven—!

It occurred to Ludwig then that he was essentially dating Gilbert, and he honestly didn't know how he felt about that. Dear lord, was going on dates with a carbon copy of his pain in the ass big brother. What the hell did that say about him? Something wrong with him, surely, for ever being remotely attracted to this arrogant, pompous, egotistical, self-centered jackass.

If Magnus and Gilbert ever came face to face, would the universe shred apart? Would some vital part of existence itself be torn apart at an atomic level? Was he just overthinking this?

Gilbert was an asshole, and so was Magnus, and Ludwig realized that he was a dumbass for being attracted to Magnus, but it was kinda late for that. Had already started looking forward to seeing Magnus, and had no plans of stopping anytime soon, regardless of Magnus' assholery.

Magnus put his hand on the back of Ludwig's arm for the rest of the walk to the apartment, and Ludwig didn't complain but pretended he was too good to be excited by that. Even though he was.

The apartment was rather normal but very bare, all things considered, which made sense if it was temporary, given Magnus' apparent residence in Copenhagen. Did have a very healthy supply of beer, however, that he wasted no time in pulling out.

Ludwig felt quite comfortable and safe then, in a private setting and away from the world. Was happiest alone, and it was nice not to be surrounded on all sides by people.

Magnus dramatically pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, and Ludwig glared at him a little but sat anyway, because that was the polite thing to do.

They drank and chatted, as they often did now, and Ludwig turned his phone onto vibrate so that Gilbert wouldn't bother him. When the sun had set and night came, they were both quite tipsy, but smiling away, and Ludwig hoped, more than anything, that now that they were alone perhaps Magnus would finally make a move.

After a while, he did. Sort of.

Magnus leaned forward, grabbed Ludwig's hand, and said, with a bit of a slur, "Now, I know ya think I'm kind of a dick, and I might be—"

"You are," Ludwig affirmed, but gripped Magnus' hand drunkenly in turn all the same.

Magnus' smirk was a little sloppy.

"Yeah, right, I am, fair, but what I'm tryin' to say is, I like ya, ya know? I like ya a lot. I kinda wanted to ask, maybe, if you'd like to go for a relationship or something. I guess I'm kinda traditional. I don't really like to have a bad reputation, ya know? People already think I'm a player, but I ain't tryin' to be, ya know? I just don't have good luck with boyfriends. Go through 'em too quick. Fuckin' microscope over me all the time."

Overbearing parents or something?

Traditional—pfft. Was that why Magnus hadn't kissed him yet? As hard as it had been to glue together Magnus' arrogance with his love of Shakespeare, it was also very hard to throw 'traditional' into the mix.

Magnus was a very curious man, indeed.

Ludwig couldn't say he was very daunted by how much of a player Magnus may or may not have been, because he had looked at Magnus the very first time and had already assumed that about him. A guy like that. Ludwig was rather taken with him, and was very willing to give it a try. He may have very well been just another name in the end in Magnus' little black book, but would have been content with that.

So Ludwig just gave Magnus' hand a playful swing in the air, and said, tipsily, "So, you want me to be boyfriend number thirty-seven? Is that what you're sayin'?"

Magnus scoffed, pushed Ludwig's hand back, and griped, "You jerk! And you call me an asshole! It's number twenty-nine, get it right."

Ludwig burst into laughter, and asked, casually, "So why don't they last, huh? Your charming personality?"

"More like my mother's," Magnus replied, smiling yet as he eyed Ludwig up and down through his intoxication. "Wait 'til you meet her. I kinda dread it, actually."

Ludwig was the one to scoff then.

Mama's boy, huh? Figured. ...kinda cute.

"If I can put up with you and my brother, I think I stand a good chance of surviving your mother."

"Alright," Magnus drawled. "Be forewarned, though; she will expect you to marry me. As soon as possible."

A rush of red to Ludwig's face that wasn't from the beer.

Quite daunted and frightened despite his bold words, Ludwig leaned across the table and said, "Let's not plan the wedding yet, eh? Anyway, you have to survive my brother before I deal with your mother. I think you've got it worse."

Magnus was silent that time, looking a bit melancholy suddenly.

Hated that look on his face, so Ludwig stood clumsily up, staggered, and then hauled Magnus upright. They held each other for balance, Magnus pulling Ludwig up against him, and Ludwig tried to cheer Magnus up by chiding, "You haven't thrown any Shakespeare at me lately. You're slacking off. You haven't won me yet, so don't let up now."

It worked; Magnus was smiling again, quite contentedly, and immediately complied and began spouting whatever nonsense came to mind as he unsteadily walked Ludwig backwards onto the couch. They collapsed upon it in a heap, Magnus squirmed atop him and pinned him down, and, at last, Magnus finally kissed him.

Finally.

He wrapped his arms around Magnus' neck, and they lied there for an hour or two, Magnus' hands occasionally wandering but aside from that he was extremely well behaved, and Ludwig regretted when his phone buzzed.

Gilbert, nagging him as always.

He kissed Magnus' nose, and tried to squirm out from under him, saying, "I have to go."

Magnus didn't let him up, and tried, "Do you really, though? You can stay the night."

Ludwig lifted his brow, and opened his mouth, but Magnus beat him to the punch.

"But hey, now—if you stay, no funny business, alright? My reputation, and all that. You can't just have your way with me right off."

It was so stupid and absurd that Ludwig laughed, and he managed to shove a hand into his pocket and pull out his phone. Well. Ah, hell, why not? Gilbert was already onto him, couldn't be put in the dark forever, and so Ludwig just sent Gilbert a clumsy text informing him that he wouldn't be home that night.

Could already hear Gilbert pitching a fit, and Ludwig threw his phone down onto the floor when Magnus kissed him again, and the damn thing didn't stop buzzing for the next forty-five minutes.

When it was time to go to bed a few hours later, Ludwig picked the phone up and winced.

Yikes!

Thirty-eight texts. No thanks!

He just went to sleep, Magnus' arm over his chest, and ignored Gilbert very happily. Magnus had no idea what was in wait for him if he really did want to be in a relationship, and if Magnus thought his mother was scary, then Gilbert was likely going to feel more like a demon.

Respective frightening relatives aside, they slept easily.

Sunday morning came, far too quickly, and they lied in bed for a long while very lazily before they headed out into the streets in search of breakfast, given Magnus' lack of anything that wasn't liquid in his apartment.

They were walking without a care in the world, Ludwig very much up in the clouds, Magnus' hand resting on the small of his back and guiding him along.

Felt the best he ever had.

And then they crossed a newspaper stand, and something caught Ludwig's eye.

He froze still in absolute shock, dragging Magnus to a halt with him, and he stared over at the rack of tabloids with wide eyes of horror. Holy shit, had to be seeing things surely, was absolutely seeing things, there was no way in hell that what he was seeing was real—

Ludwig drifted over in a daze to the newspaper stand, took a gossip tabloid up in his hands, and gawked at it in nothing less than absolute _horror_.

He saw himself there, and Magnus.

Oh dear god, that unspeakable horror he felt, as he held that tabloid in front of his face and stared holes down at it. That photo. When Ludwig had slipped on the ice the day before, someone had snapped a picture of it. Magnus, catching him and holding him steady, a brief look of concern on his face as Ludwig panicked. A very cute photo, granted, and had it not been plastered on a fucking tabloid for the entire world to see Ludwig would have been so much more keen on it.

But _why_?

His eyes drifted to the bold text above.

**'PRINCE CHARMING SAVES THE DAY!'**

Smaller text on the side.

'Prince Magnus or Knight in Shining Armor? Does Our Dashing Prince Romeo Have a New Juliet?'

Couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't even see straight suddenly, as the words blurred together into an unfocused mess. Had never been knocked so entirely senseless.

Appalled. Aghast. Affronted. Offended. Juliet—? The nerve!

Prince?

Magnus had never said a damn thing about being a Prince. A little of this and that? Public relations—what a lying bastard!

Ludwig was hopelessly dumbfounded.

Ludwig turned to look over at Magnus accusatively, mouth dropped open and eyes wide and nostrils flared, as the flight response rose up, and Magnus just snorted, and drawled, "Well. Cat's outta the bag, I guess."

Was that all he had to _say_?

Hands trembling suddenly, Ludwig clenched the tabloid, as Magnus threw a few coins at the vendor to purchase it, and when he found his voice at last he uttered, weakly, "How could you hide this from me?"

Magnus seemed hardly bothered, and ran a hand through his messy hair with a smirk, waving off Ludwig's accusation.

"What? It's not like I lied to you or anything. You didn't really ask."

No shit!

Who thought to sit there and ask the man they were casually dating, 'Say, you're not a fuckin' Prince, are you?' No one fucking did that, because no one ever had to, holy shit—

Ludwig's first instinct then was to run away screaming, and maybe Magnus might have seen that a little on his face because suddenly he snatched out and looped his arm within Ludwig's, keeping him very still and very much at his side.

"Hey!" Magnus chided, as he forced Ludwig's shuffling feet still. "Remember what we talked about last night? You kinda agreed to be my boyfriend. I mean... If you've changed your mind, I guess that's that, but— I kinda don't wanna move on to number thirty, you know? I get it, really, but... Ha. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Story of my life."

Christ, Magnus' overbearing mother; the Queen of fuckin' Denmark, good god!

It was terror then that kept Ludwig perfectly still and straight, still staring at Magnus in horror. Magnus waited for Ludwig's response, and maybe by then Magnus was looking a little nervous.

Ludwig opened his mouth, and foundered.

What the hell was he supposed to say? This was a rather earth shattering revelation, not one so easily digested, and certainly not one to be made very lightly.

Ludwig didn't have time to think much about it, as a man suddenly ran up with a camera and very rudely snapped a shot of them right there. Magnus, very used to it, didn't flinch at all. Ludwig gawked and gaped, and at the look on his face Magnus started laughing, actually cackling, and Ludwig huffed.

...well, could see why Magnus had been less than forthcoming with him, perhaps.

He folded the tabloid neatly, tucked it into his coat pocket, because it would actually make a great souvenir for Gilbert, humiliation aside, and he tried to figure out where to go from there. Forward, really. Seemed to be the only way. Had gotten too attached to Magnus, really, to toss him aside and go into hiding, although that would have been the smarter option.

Didn't like when Magnus looked nervous and sad, and so Ludwig fortified his bravery.

He could handle this. He could.

Ludwig lifted his chin, gathered his dignity, and grumbled, testily, "Well, then! Don't embarrass me. Make sure you're on your best behavior at all times. I won't be made a fool of on tabloid covers."

Magnus just leered at him, looking smug again, and dramatically bowed and swept his arm forward.

"After you, then."

Ludwig stalked off, Magnus trotting behind him, and Ludwig absolutely under no circumstances was not envisioning himself becoming a faux-royal. Nope. Not at all. Not interested.

He was going to sleep on it, and would make a decision with a clear head.

For all the good it mattered, because Magnus jogged ahead of him so that he could walk backwards and look Ludwig up and down, before saying, "Yeah. You'll make a good Prince! I think I have a good eye."

Ludwig immediately tripped over his own feet.

Magnus walked him dutifully to the border, and as soon as Ludwig made it home and shut the door behind him, he ran furiously through the house, ripped open Gilbert's door, and lunged inside. Gilbert actually jumped and cried out in alarm, shirtless and messy-haired, eyes wide and mouth open as he leapt out of bed in only his boxers. Ludwig didn't give Gilbert a chance to panic, and instead threw the tabloid straight at Gilbert's face.

Gilbert dumbly looked down at it, gaped in absolute shock, and then, just like Magnus, Gilbert started laughing and couldn't stop.

Ludwig huffed more and stalked out and into the kitchen and grabbed a beer.

These two jerks!

Had to say, though, that they would make very interesting brother-in-laws.

Gilbert laughed until he was crying and couldn't breathe, and last Ludwig saw of that tabloid, it was pinned up on Gilbert's wall.

Gilbert was wheezing when he came into the kitchen, wiping his eyes and looking pained, and he said to Ludwig, "You fuckin'— You're _shittin'_ me, Lutz! This is what you've been up to? Huh? Really? And you didn't fuckin' tell me? I don't want you to ever have a boyfriend, but in this case I'll make an exception. Holy shit! You know what this will do for us? Goddamn, I'm gonna be a fuckin' Prince!"

Asshole.

Ludwig plowed through his beer, and went for another, griping, "You're not gonna be shit, you jerk! You're cut out of the royal family tree."

Hardly.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't you let this go, got it? I'm watching you now to make sure you don't screw up."

How quickly Gilbert's tune had changed.

When Magnus called that night, Ludwig sent Gilbert a glare, and then picked up the phone.

_"Care to be my royal date tonight, Juliet?"_

Gilbert raised a hand to his forehead and swooned dramatically, hip thrown out and eyelashes fluttering, and Ludwig threw his empty beer can at Gilbert and squeaked more than he meant to, "Okay!"

Gilbert started laughing again.

When Ludwig passed him, he kicked Gilbert's shin. When Gilbert was done wallowing, he called to Ludwig, as Ludwig made for the door, "Don't you blow it, you little bastard! I _deserve_ to be royalty!"

Ludwig slammed the door behind him.

In all honesty, Ludwig had no intentions of blowing it, because, well...

Everyone dreamed of being royalty.

So, when Magnus dramatically extended his arm, Ludwig took it, and ignored the camera flashes. A rush, certainly, and Magnus was too handsome to really resist, too funny and too amicable.

Magnus saw him smiling, and crooned, egotistically, "I knew you wouldn't resist me for long."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, and retorted, "You're no prince charming, whatever the papers say, so don't get ahead of yourself."

Magnus just rolled back his shoulders, looking as if he owned the world, and drawled, "I may not be prince charming, but I think I'll make a majestic king, don't you?"

Ugh.

Beleaguered, Ludwig muttered, "Your ego is majestic, Prince Charmless."

Magnus just strutted along happily, dragging Ludwig where he would.

Gilbert and Magnus would make the worst possible brother-in-laws. Couldn't wait.

As they walked Ludwig had a sudden mental image of Gilbert dressed in royal raiment, crown lopsided atop his head, holding the Danish royal scepter (if there was one) and standing atop the throne, waving the scepter over the room and pretending that he owned the world entire. Bonus points for holding an old Viking shield in the other hand.

He started laughing and couldn't stop, and Magnus just stared over at him as if Ludwig had lost his mind.

He absolutely had.

Gilbert _did_ deserve to be royalty, if only because it would be hilarious.

He knew that Gilbert would of course never set foot into a palace anywhere, wouldn't be anything to anyone, but it was a damn fun thought all the same, and Gilbert would enjoy whatever title was bestowed upon either him or Ludwig.

When he could breathe again, Ludwig clung to Magnus' arm and said, so cheerily, "So when's the wedding? Your mother is waiting."

Magnus' breathless, confused smile.

"Changed your mind, huh? I knew you would. Let's go meet my mom, then. Damn, will she be glad you aren't Swedish!"

Ludwig snorted.

"Well," Magnus quickly added. "On second thought. Let's enjoy my last two months down here together before we go back to Copenhagen to tie the knot, alright?"

"Deal."

Magnus smiled the entire time they walked, and Ludwig realized that he was too.

He liked Magnus, and not because he was a Prince, and for that he would suffer bad tabloid headlines. If Magnus played his cards right, he would have no need of facing that dreaded number thirty.

Ludwig would get to live a little fairytale fantasy he had never even known he had.

Prince Charmless could be a _little_ charming, after all.

Worth a shot.


	8. FORTUNA (PolGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : Longer one here. PolGer. 1930's, Free City of Danzig setting. War and Nazi stuff. Not really a cute or happy one this time around, exactly. (Sarada-Yuchiha on tumblr requested something with Poland, so I tried to deliver. Apologies if this is nothing at all for what you hoped or expected! It's just where my mind went right away! I'm trash.)

**FORTUNA**

Of all the grand things Feliks had envisioned himself doing in his life, working in the one Polish post office in Gdansk was not one of them.

To be perfectly honest, Feliks had expected to be famous by now, an actor or politician or artist or some such. Had known as a child that he wanted grandeur and public attention. Had dreamt of being a celebrity, important and influential, affluent.

Instead, he dutifully filed envelopes and parcels into piles, eyes glazed over and brain very shut down, all goals and aspirations having been very unfairly snatched from him. Well, perhaps snatched wasn't exactly an appropriate word—more like, all goals and aspirations hadn't been set neatly into his lap and he had been too unmotivated to actively seek them out.

Feliks has wanted greatness, but had never really wanted to put in the work necessary to achieve it. Had rather hoped it would just come to him, and so had never chased after it. Feliks was insanely egotistical, arrogant, entitled, the son of wealthy parents, and had always expected to be handed everything. His attitude was horrible, he knew that. Hadn't known it in his youth, but once his parents had died and Feliks had been left alone, he realized that no one else cared about him because he had never cared about other people. His friends were nonexistent, and his coworkers merely tolerated him because he could sometimes be very funny.

Greatness? Hardly.

Here he was now, thirty-three and chucking envelopes carelessly over his shoulder, starting work at three in the morning and trapped there until three in the afternoon. Six days a week.

Torture.

By day, anyway.

In the evenings, Feliks found himself underground, helping to write and print out and distribute banned Polish news.

The Free City of Danzig wasn't quite so free nowadays if you were Polish rather than German. Hadn't been that way when Feliks had grown up, but the start of the 1930s had been dramatically unkind to the Poles in Gdansk.

Technically, from a perfectly legal perspective, the news Feliks helped distribute was not illegal; but mailmen who delivered it were very often corralled and beaten in the streets, and reading it publicly sometimes had very harsh repercussions. In that sense, it was more of an underground sensation now, and felt illegal although it wasn't. Every year had been more hostile than the last, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Nazi ideations were held by the majority of the governing force of Gdansk.

Couldn't even call it Gdansk outside the door. Nearly 500 years this city had been part of Poland, before falling into various foreign hands, and now they could only call it Danzig aloud.

The city was almost entirely German now. Very few Poles remained from the olden days, but all the same it had been fine. Once, the Poles and Germans in this city had been equals. Neighbors. Friends. A bit tense at times, certainly, that was to be expected, but nothing at all like this.

Schools that only taught in Polish were being shut down, one by one, and Feliks was luckier than some in that he had grown up in a household that had spoken both Polish and German in equal proportions, and his German was as natural as his Polish. He could easily pass for a German on any given day merely by opening his mouth, and used that always to his advantage.

Feliks had always had a habit of getting himself into trouble without exactly meaning to. Had since childhood, and adulthood was no different. His own rebelliousness against the growing pressure certainly didn't help, and Feliks would be the first to admit that he wasn't precisely stealthy when he delivered these underground newspapers. He had been harassed more than a few times, almost arrested on several, but always wriggled away unscathed.

There were times when Feliks wondered if he put himself into these situations intentionally out of boredom or dissatisfaction with his dull life. He was always out and about when he wasn't working, it seemed. Rarely saw the inside of his own home, and then only to sleep for a few meager hours before he had to get up in the middle of the night to go to work. Sunday, his only day home, was uneventful; he slept all day, catching up on desperately needed rest.

Felt stifled and useless, so Feliks rebelled.

One afternoon, in the summer of 1935, Feliks had been going about his business, newspapers in hand and delivering them to known customers, when he had seen the huge crowd gathered around the Neptune fountain. He slunk in, and asked the man beside of him, a tall, pale blond, "What's going on?"

The man merely lifted his chin, and uttered, "The eagles."

He didn't understand, and popped up to try to get a look.

The local police were removing the Polish eagles from the fence surrounding the statue. An awful rush of anger, offense, and Feliks scoffed, turned back to the pale man beside of him, and griped, "Can you believe this? Who do they think they are? They own the city for a little while and now try to pretend it was never Polish. Are they trying to erase us?"

The blond beside of him appeared deep in thought, and then gave a very deep, "Hm."

Feliks looked him over, realized how young he was, a kid, a student probably, and students were the best customers, so Feliks reached under his arm, pulled out a newspaper, handed it to the man, and said, "Here you go. Here's something they're not erasing anytime soon."

A glance down, a light scoff, and the man merely drawled, "Thank you."

With that, Feliks sent one more reproachful look at the fountain and carried on his way.

The thought of Polish eagles being removed from the city kept him up all night, grated him, and he was very cranky come early morning.

Work passed as uneventfully as always, and Feliks went back underground in the evening to gather up his newspapers and carry on his normal route.

That time when he passed once more by that fountain, he glanced at the now empty circles where proud eagles had once rested, and he would have been more angry about it if he hadn't seen a familiar face. A glint of pale hair in the fading sunlight, and Feliks could see that same man from the day before, staring at the missing eagles quite thoughtfully.

Feliks went up to him, settled in beside of him, and grumbled, "No point in dwelling on it, for now, I guess. We can't do anything about it. Just have to keep resisting. As long as we're still here, no one can forget us, right?"

The blond turned to look at him, and Feliks noted the extremely pale shade of his eyes. Everything about him was very pale, for that matter, and his face was very stoic, very blank. Taller than Feliks by just a bit, posture perfect and yet looking quite down, despite the blankness. Just something about his low shoulders and chin. Seemed a bit sad.

Feliks reached out, clapped his back, and said, "Cheer up, kid. We're not down and out, yet. Here ya go." He gave the kid another newspaper, and added, "Wait for me here this time every day, if you want. I'll put you on my delivery list."

The man tucked the paper into his shirt pocket, and nodded his head, once more merely uttering, "Thank you."

Hm. Certainly wasn't a talker by any means, but some people were just that way. Feliks gave the kid a smile for courage, and carried on.

The next day, there the kid was, awaiting his newspaper, and Feliks took that as an affirmative to put the kid on the list of customers.

Feliks tried to get him to speak a little, but he didn't, not really, offering only one word answers on the rare occasion he spoke at all. Feliks found him very curious indeed, very strange and odd.

Cute kid, though. Had a handsome face, if not lacking a little in personality.

On the eighth day of delivering that kid his paper, Feliks held it out, snatched it back at the last second, and at the kid's look of exasperation, Feliks smiled and said, "Hey, kid, you know how the priests make holy water?"

A quirk of a brow, and lidded eyes. As expected, the silent blond didn't play along, but that was fine.

Feliks handed him the paper, and finished, "They boil the hell out of it."

He snickered at his own terrible joke, the blond did not, and looked quite condescending indeed when Feliks slapped him on the arm and walked off. Ah, hell. Would get that jerk to talk one of these days. Or at least laugh. A damn smile, if nothing else.

Every day, he handed that kid his paper, and then told him a horrendous joke, some of them so bad that his own laughter was mixed with a few cringes.

So far, two months in, the kid was holding strong and had yet to laugh or smile, but had stopped attempting to murder Feliks with his eyes. Feliks, for his part, had become quite fond of that very, very strange kid, and looked forward to seeing him. Hard to explain why. Guess he had gotten somehow attached to that silent weirdo.

Had asked his name twice, and had been denied both times. Oh, well. He was working on it.

He enjoyed the sight of the blond's pale eyes.

After a few more months, Feliks considered them friends, even if he still didn't know the kid's name and even if he never smiled. A rather odd partnership they had built up, because if the kid was sick and tired of Feliks he would have said so by now and wouldn't have stood out there every day.

Feliks considered it a challenge, one he was intent on winning.

And then one day towards the winter of '35, very fatefully, Feliks had handed his silent friend his paper and his bad joke, once more failed to make him laugh, said his fond farewell, and when he meant to carry on, he was suddenly face to face with the director of the post office.

The director looked very distressed, and hissed, "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Feliks asked, rather dumbly, following the director's eyes back over to his quirky blond.

The director grabbed Feliks' arm and began dragging him along, and when they were very far away, Feliks found himself pushed into a quiet alley.

"What are you doing? Why are you giving papers to him?"

Very confused, Feliks lifted his chin and asked, "What? You know him or something? What's the matter?"

The director looked around, leaned in, and griped, "Are you stupid? Why are you giving out those newspapers to him? Don't you know who he is?"

Obviously not.

A hand gripped his coat and gave him a good shake, and the director's words shocked Feliks.

"He's one of the secretaries for the Nazi Party. He's German. He wasn't even born here. His brother is in the SS. He was sent here as an intern last year. He's not Polish, you idiot! What are you even doing? You're just letting the Nazi Party know every single thing you guys are writing about them!"

An awful surge of dread, and a dumber thought :

Well, shit, no wonder the man had never laughed at his damn jokes. Probably hadn't understood a one of them, likely had understood very little of everything Feliks had ever said to him. Just knew a few Polish words, and Feliks had assumed he was Polish without actually asking.

What a disaster this could be.

Feliks must have looked very stupid and dumbfounded then, wide-eyed and aghast, for there was a roll of the director's eyes.

He felt quite moronic indeed.

The director just sighed, and grumbled, "Well! Remember your greatest defense : it's not illegal. There's still a court and law here, and giving that newspaper out isn't illegal." With that, he slapped the back of Feliks' head very smartly and walked off.

Oh, shit, shit, shit, he was a damn idiot, he really was.

Feliks very quickly darted home in shame and threw himself in bed, and somehow, beyond that fear, there was a terrible disappointment. Had really gotten attached to that kid, stupid as it was. Almost felt bereft in some ridiculous way, and the next day, the pale kid was waiting there in his usual spot, and it stung a little when Feliks walked straight by him without stopping. He glanced over, just briefly, to see the kid looking a bit confused, head tilted and brow low.

Dreadful.

The next day, when Feliks passed, the kid took a step forward, as if attempting to draw Feliks' attention. As if, perhaps, he merely thought that Feliks just hadn't noticed him.

The third day, he called, "Hey," as Feliks walked by. Feliks didn't stop. Not that day.

The next day, however, he did fall still for a moment, when the kid once more called to him. Felt kinda bad ignoring him, in spite of it all, even knowing now who he was and what he did here, that he was a young intern for the Nazi Party that these newspapers denounced.

Feliks stopped, and looked over.

The blond came forward a pace, and then another, before speaking at long last.

"So," the man finally said, voice very deep and rumbling, calm, cool. "No newspaper for me?"

His accent was very thick, but he had clearly given effort to learn.

Agitated and a little frightened, Feliks stiffened up, hardened his face, and merely said, in German, "No. Sorry. I ran out already."

For the first time that he had ever seen, the pale blond actually smiled. It was a nice sight, sure, but Feliks turned around all the same and walked away.

The next day, the blond was yet stubbornly waiting in his usual spot. Rather distasteful, and when Feliks passed him, the curl of his lip no doubt told the blond all he needed to know. Was trying hard to disengage himself emotionally from this kid he had gotten fond of. Kinda hard, though.

A murmur in German from behind, as he glided by.

"Have I offended you in some way? It wasn't my intent."

Feliks didn't look back. Didn't respond, because, really... No, he hadn't been offended, and the blond really hadn't done anything wrong so to speak. Feliks was dumb as hell, but he wasn't stupid, and knew better than to keep associating with that man. Had already given him too much information.

The next day, there the kid stood, and once more he came forward and tried to engage Feliks in conversation.

"No paper for me again? I rather enjoyed them. My Polish is very bad still. I used them to study a little."

Feliks looked over his shoulder, and called back, "There's a library for that."

The kid fell still, and Feliks carried on.

Felt awful ignoring him, when he had been the only thing Feliks had been looking forward to in his day. Had finally broken through the silence and blankness, and now couldn't even do anything with it.

The weather grew colder. The leaves were almost entirely gone from the trees.

One day, when Feliks walked by the waiting blond, something interesting happened. If not interesting exactly, then certainly something new.

The kid called to Feliks, "Hey! You know why they always put fences around cemeteries? Because people are just dying to get in."

What the—

Feliks stopped in his tracks, and looked over his shoulder in appall.

That was the worst goddamn joke he had ever heard in his life, and that was coming from _him_ of all people.

And suddenly Feliks was laughing.

How stupid, how utterly stupid, and Feliks couldn't stop laughing however hard he tried. The kid used his immobility to come forward and get close to him, as Feliks wheezed and wiped his eyes, and when Feliks was wincing, the kid held out his hand.

"I'm Ludwig."

He shouldn't have, he knew it, he knew it was dumb and dangerous, but Feliks was dumb and danger was more exciting than anything going on in his life, so he took the offered hand and gave it a good, firm shake.

"I'm Feliks."

The handshake ended, and Ludwig lifted his hands up at his sides and asked, a bit playfully, "So! My paper?"

At that, Feliks hesitated.

Ludwig saw his anxiety, his uncertainty, and said, "Well, then. If you don't want me reading your paper, that's fine. Maybe we can just talk, and you can help me work on my Polish."

Feliks looked around, almost guiltily, not really wanting to be seen interacting with Ludwig right there in the center of town, and Feliks gathered the courage to ask, "Should _you_ really be learning Polish? I don't think your friends would approve."

Ludwig's smile fell, his face hardened a bit, his shoulders braced, and his voice was a bit higher and sharper when he said, swiftly, "I don't have any friends. I'm just here because this is where my brother had me sent. He was born here, but I wasn't. He thinks it's better here for me than in Berlin. I'm not... My brother sent me to work as an intern, because he doesn't think I'm... _up to standard_ , in his words. We don't exactly see eye to eye. If I'm here, I don't see the harm in learning Polish. No one needs to know. It's my own personal activity. I'd rather spend my time learning Polish than listening to those dreadful men speaking and having to file their awful notes and orders. I think my brother did this as a punishment to me for constantly disappointing him. I'd rather just go work in the library or something. I hate listening to those men."

Well. That was...a lot. This kid must not have had friends, after all, to blabber so much of his life randomly to a stranger.

Feliks lifted his chin, eyed pale Ludwig up and down, and drawled, "Anything else? You wanna come over to my place and tell me all about your childhood? Your dreams and aspirations? I can counsel you, but it will cost you. If you're dying to get your life story out there."

A sudden reddening of Ludwig's pale cheeks, and Feliks knew right off that he had inadvertently either offended him or embarrassed him. Both, perhaps, for Ludwig abruptly turned on his heel and began stalking off. With a jolt of adrenaline, Feliks darted after him, nearly dropping his remaining newspapers, and managed to catch up.

"Hey! Stop, stop, stop. I didn't mean it like that, man, I was just teasing you. Don't be angry. I didn't mean nothing by it."

Ludwig slowed, glancing over at Feliks, and Feliks grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to a halt.

"You wanna learn Polish, huh? I'll teach you," he offered, to appease testy Ludwig.

Didn't know why. Hated seeing that kid walk away. Feliks had no one else in his life, absolutely no one. If Ludwig didn't have friends, then Feliks was far worse off. No one could stand him.

Ludwig glared over at him, but seemed to relent a little.

To prove that he meant it, Feliks said, in Polish, "Wait for me here tomorrow, like always, and we'll talk. Understand?"

Feliks spoke slowly and correctly, for Ludwig's benefit, and he seemed to understand, but his speech was very thick and clumsy when he answered, "Alright. Tomorrow."

Feliks sent Ludwig a wink, and carried quickly on his way to deliver the rest of his papers.

That night, he stared up at his ceiling, and couldn't sleep.

His mind was on Ludwig, it seemed. Knew his name, now, had gotten him to smile, had gotten him to speak, and even though it was different than it had been before, Feliks found that he still enjoyed the fruits of his labor. The kid was a little Nazi, but hell, he hadn't done anything wrong, was just getting by like everyone else and finding his way in the world, and he had been nothing but polite to Feliks. Feliks liked Ludwig, and ignored the obstacles Ludwig could have presented as well as the danger.

He met Ludwig there the next day, and spoke to him in Polish, making easy conversation. When Ludwig couldn't answer in Polish, he switched to German, and Feliks schooled him as best he could.

Ludwig certainly gave an effort, and Feliks considered Ludwig for sure then his friend. For the rest of '35, they met there every day in front of the fountain and chatted briefly, and Ludwig's Polish got a little better each time.

1936 came, and things got worse for the Poles in Gdansk. More schools closed. More people fled. The newspaper was more dangerous to deliver. It wasn't as safe for Ludwig and Feliks to speak right there in front of the fountain anymore, but they were hardly deterred.

Whatever could be said of the city, the year brought fairly good things for Feliks, if only emotionally, because he and Ludwig saw each other every day, or very nearly, and it didn't take long for Feliks to realize that his affinity for Ludwig may have bordered perhaps on the inappropriate. He was bored and lonely, and susceptible to the emotion brought on by someone paying him attention. Perhaps his ego and vanity and self-worth loved Ludwig more than Feliks as a whole did, but all the same Feliks lit up when he saw Ludwig coming.

Naturally, given Ludwig's position in the Nazi Party and Feliks' position in the post office and in the paper, they weren't overtly affectionate with each other in the public eye. They had taken to meeting in isolated locations to chat, each too afraid of going to the other's home and being seen and recognized by fellow coworkers.

Their favorite place was along the sea, on a desolate stretch a good hour walk or so outside of the city. They went there every Sunday, and sat out all day at a little table they had made together out of driftwood. They brought food and drinks, sometimes beer or spirits, and prattled until nightfall. That was Feliks' favorite day, and well worth the sacrifice of sleep he made. Being around Ludwig was the most exciting part of his life, sad as it was.

Ludwig was very handsome, had pretty eyes and features, and was quite pleasant to look at. A nice voice as well, and it was funny to Feliks to hear him working so hard on his Polish and mangling a good bit of it. But Ludwig tried, and they got a good laugh out of in. During the week, they just walked along the river, and Feliks always stared at Ludwig, always, but Ludwig didn't really seem to notice the intent.

Feliks was a rather handsome man himself, he knew that, but he was a fair bit older than Ludwig, and perhaps it just didn't click in Ludwig's head. Or, more certainly, Ludwig simply was perfectly normal, and so of course it never occurred to him.

What a shame.

Still, just to be sure, Feliks always dressed very nicely, shaved and preened, tied his hair neatly back, and kept himself up to standards at all times. Vanity, after all, was Feliks' strong point.

But Ludwig was oblivious.

1937.

German students in the university attacked and expelled all Polish students, and hostilities were higher than ever. The Nazi Party had almost complete control of the government. More Poles fled the city, as did most of the Jews and Russians.

Things seemed to deteriorate more and more every year, and yet Feliks could say with certainty that his sentiments for Ludwig seemed to grow ever stronger. As always, Ludwig was blissfully ignorant, entirely unaware, and so Feliks just rested his chin on his balled fist and watched Ludwig fumbling his Polish over a beer.

How odd! The Germans and Poles in the city were at each other's throats, while Ludwig and Feliks sought each other out and only enjoyed the company of the other.

Come fall, however, Feliks didn't seem to be the only one that had suddenly developed an odd affection for Ludwig.

A normal day at the office, as Feliks fluttered about as always, hands working mechanically as he daydreamed about Ludwig and his own impossible goals.

"Feliks."

He looked up, to see the director beckoning him into his office. He stood and went, curiously, and the door was shut behind him. The director was very quick to lean in and whisper, "Your Nazi friend. You really think he's your friend? You really trust him?"

Feliks held his gaze, contemplated and pondered, and trusted himself.

Trusted Ludwig.

So, Feliks replied, "Yeah. I do."

A clap on his shoulder.

"Good. Keep him very close. Things are getting worse. He might come in handy, one way or another. Don't let him drift."

Feliks nodded, and was sent back to work.

He trusted Ludwig, because he loved him, and love made Feliks a little dumber than he already was, which was pretty damn dumb.

He may have been an idiot, but if so then he was a happy one. Even if Ludwig was clueless, being around someone that actually seemed to like him was nice. Most of the people in Feliks' life seemed to merely tolerate him, in one form or another, and he knew that that was his fault for being egotistical and selfish and rather abrasive.

Ludwig didn't seem to mind. Usually just rolled his eyes when Feliks was being arrogant and making an ass of himself. Was always quite patient with him, in fact, and sometimes just smiled.

Feliks could babble on for hours and hours about himself, even though he was as bland and useless as they came, and Ludwig just sat patiently and listened, nodding along. Ludwig was the only person who didn't seem to view Feliks as a nuisance, and maybe that also contributed a bit to Feliks' fondness for Ludwig.

Feliks' jokes became far crasser and sometimes a little inappropriate. Ludwig usually just blushed and turned his head aside, but recovered quickly enough. Ludwig was shy and boring, yeah, but he actually had a lot to say in the right mood. Ludwig was smart, and thoughtful. He was composed and didn't speak unless there was something meaningful to say, and Feliks enjoyed that about him. Had Ludwig been louder, perhaps they would have clashed.

In September of '37, they drank a little too much on their Sunday outing, and Feliks was bold enough to rest his hand on Ludwig's back for a little while, and Ludwig tipsily leaned into him, just a bit, as he drunkenly tried to form words in Polish and just ended up creating his own incomprehensible words instead.

That touch was nice. Small things, he supposed.

Hated being alone all the time. Couldn't stand silence.

1938.

More Poles fled the city, but a good majority stubbornly remained. The police came to the Polish schools, and demanded that all the students be transferred to German schools instead. No more Polish was to be taught. From then on, the city was German-language only.

How strange that Feliks was teaching a perfectly Aryan Nazi Party member Polish right beneath their noses. Ludwig was likely running a greater risk these days than Feliks was, but Ludwig was stony and stoic and fearless, never once looking over his shoulder. Feliks had always been too self-centered to care much about the world around him, and focused only on Ludwig.

He started spending a little less time with the paper business, so that he could spend more time walking along the river with Ludwig. In these years, he and Ludwig could probably call themselves best friends, because they had come to rely so heavily upon each other. They were both alone and felt isolated and ostracized, so naturally they drifted towards each other. Feliks, as bold as he was, had long since by then gotten handsier with Ludwig, throwing an arm over his shoulder and constantly jostling him. Sometimes, when Ludwig was preened and pristine, Feliks would wrap an arm around his neck and tousle his hair to ruin it, because how huffy and fussy it made Ludwig was amusing to Feliks.

Ludwig was cute, and Feliks enjoyed manhandling him.

By then, Feliks had accepted that Ludwig was strictly a friend and nothing more, because Ludwig had never given him any indication otherwise.

He watched Ludwig, calmly, and just tried to enjoy his presence, despite the constant gnaw of loneliness. Sometimes, at night, he would roll over on his side and wonder what it would feel like if there was someone next to him.

1939.

When it seemed as if things couldn't have gotten much worse than they already were, naturally they did in fact get worse.

A few days into April, Feliks looked up from his desk to see a soldier walking in. He disappeared into the office with the director, for a long while. Feliks thought nothing of it, at least not until two days later when he looked up again and saw more soldiers, and this time they were carrying long boxes and chests. They were set in the basement.

Feliks discovered, later, that the boxes held rifles and machine guns, and the chests held grenades.

Unease.

Several more days later, the employees were all held together for a meeting, and were informed that they were going to be trained to shoot and defend. Shoot? Feliks was a postal worker. He handled mail and packages and papers. Why in god's name did he need to learn how to shoot?

Reservations aside, learn to shoot Feliks did, because it was mandatory. They had weeks of training by those soldiers, and the plan was laid out for them :

In the event of German hostilities, they were to defend the post office at all costs, for six hours, until the army would come to relieve them.

Feliks was terrified, as everyone was, but paid attention and was committed to fulfilling his part dutifully if it came down to it.

He watched as the office doors were strengthened and fortified in the coming days.

But then weeks passed, months, and Feliks began to forget about the guns and grenades in the basement. He never told Ludwig about it, and didn't press Ludwig for any information, despite the director's hints to, because honestly Feliks felt that Ludwig just didn't know anything. If Ludwig had known something was coming, surely he would have told Feliks by then.

They were friends.

Ludwig was only a secretary, an intern; what could he possibly know?

Feliks didn't ask, and spring turned to summer.

Sometimes, when they sat out by the sea, Feliks would stare and stare at Ludwig as he always did and Ludwig would stare back at him. In those moments they were quiet, and didn't speak much. It said a good deal about how much this friendship really meant to Feliks that he could just sit there and be quiet. He didn't feel the need as much lately to be so loud and brash and arrogant in front of Ludwig, because by then he was confident that Ludwig actually _liked_ him.

Didn't need to try so hard, and that was something he had never felt.

There were times though, in those moments as they stared at each other, that Feliks did wonder perhaps if maybe Ludwig felt something for him. His own wishful thinking, no doubt, so he never said anything, because he was far too scared to ruin this wonderful friendship he had built up with this unlikely man.

Ludwig's pretty eyes haunted Feliks about as much as they captivated him these days.

It was never meant to be, but Feliks liked to think, dumbly no doubt, that if Ludwig's eyes were the sky then his own were the grass, and that made them connected in some odd way, for the grass and sky always met.

Sometimes, he just thought about it all too much.

Summer came close to ending. The weather started to cool just a bit. Feliks no longer delivered the paper. Too dangerous now. Not worth the risk. Now, in the evenings, he spent his time with Ludwig in dark corners, as they pretended things weren't falling apart all around them.

The last day of August.

A knock on his door in the middle of the night.

Feliks bolted upright at the waist in a fright, eyes wide and mouth open, and he staggered out of bed and crept quietly out of his bedroom. Another knock, softer than the last. The hairs on his arms stood up, and Feliks was beyond certain that the police had come for him at last, for one reason or another. People were going to jail at an alarming rate, and for no reason at all.

He planted his feet very carefully to make no sound, went to the side of the door, and tried to listen.

He heard no ruckus in the hall, no heavy steps.

He jumped when there was another knock, and then, through the thin wood, he heard a low murmur.

"Feliks. It's me. Open up."

Ludwig?

He inhaled, grabbed the handle with one hand and meant to twist the lock with the other, and felt himself hesitating. Suspicion, always under the surface. Sometimes, although he loved Ludwig, he didn't entirely trust him. Couldn't, not all the way, not when it came to things like this, because doing so would have been foolish, and this was highly suspicious activity indeed. No matter how much Feliks denied it in his heart, his head was always very aware that he was Polish and Ludwig was a member of the Nazi Party, and those two things didn't mix very well.

Shouldn't open it.

He shouldn't have opened it, but he turned the lock anyway, because he was stupid and lonely and he loved Ludwig, and he opened the door just a crack. Sure enough, Ludwig stood there on the other side, dressed very sloppily, as if he had run over in a great hurry. He looked alarmed, uneasy, frightened.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, reluctant to open the door any farther.

Ludwig's expression was harried, frantic, and he merely said, "Let me in. I need to speak to you. It's urgent."

Despite his brain telling him every reason not to, Feliks' heart led his actions, as usual, and he opened the door, ushering Ludwig inside. As soon as the door had shut and locked behind him, Ludwig whirled around on Feliks, so quickly that they nearly slammed into each other, and Ludwig wasted no time in saying, "You have to leave. As soon as possible. Tonight."

Feliks scoffed, lifted his chin, and griped, "What are you talking about?"

" _Please_ ," Ludwig beseeched, reaching out to grab handfuls of Feliks' wrinkled shirt. "Please, there's no time, please, you have to leave. Go, now. Get out of the city before dawn. Go somewhere else in Poland. Somewhere far south, I don't know, just get out of the city. Maybe, if you can, maybe you should go to Switzerland."

Switzerland?

Feliks furrowed his brow and grabbed Ludwig's arms, gave him a shake to calm him down and get him to stop blabbering, and asked again, "What are you talking about? What's the matter? What's gotten into you, huh? What's happening?"

Ludwig hung his head and breathed heavily, trying to gather his composure and his thoughts, and Feliks kept glancing at the door in a fright.

Was so nervous, so uneasy. Didn't like this at all, because he didn't know what was happening.

A long minute, and then Ludwig lifted his head, and said, "I don't know what's happening. But I know it's nothing good. Something is going to happen tomorrow. Something bad. I don't know— My brother contacted me. He told me to return to Berlin immediately, tonight. So, please, you have to go, too, because whatever it is won't be good. It's not safe to stay here."

Oh, that terrible dread he felt.

All the same, he couldn't just leave, not just on a vague warning like that. He had nowhere to go, nowhere and no one. Couldn't just leave.

Feliks shook his head, and whispered, "I can't. I can't go. This is my home. I can't go."

Ludwig's face fell, his eyes squinted, and it was the most emotion Feliks had ever seen Ludwig show.

"Please," he beseeched once more. "Please leave. I can't— I don't want anything to happen to you. I couldn't bear it. You're the only friend I have. Please leave."

That awful tone of voice, that expression, as if Ludwig were on the verge of tears; couldn't stand it, and maybe it was because some unknown danger was suddenly looming over him that Feliks lifted his head up and pressed forward and kissed Ludwig entirely without warning.

Ludwig's wide-eyed look of surprise and perhaps fear.

Feliks gave it his best effort, figuring it would be the only time, enjoyed himself immensely, and then he pulled back, looking Ludwig up and down, and smiled a little. Ludwig's adorably confused expression was quite endearing. Feliks opened his mouth, and had no chance at all to speak when Ludwig lunged at him, grabbed the front of his shirt again and kissed him in turn.

Well, damn—! Maybe Ludwig really had been staring back at him after all. It hadn't been all in his head, or maybe Ludwig was just as lonely as Feliks was. Would take it either way, because it was a wondrous feeling. People could only be alone for so long, after all, and Feliks had always had a bit of an affinity for Ludwig.

Ludwig offered no protests and indeed no words at all as they staggered back into Feliks' bedroom.

If he was going to die tomorrow or soon after, then he would make the best use of this night.

And that he surely did, spending long hours tangled up in sheets, reveling in the feel and smell and sight of someone there beside of him at last. It was rather strange, how a man could do so many things, pass through so much risk and danger, and yet somehow nothing ever brought out that exact same rush that came with being loved.

The indescribable sensation of having someone in his arms, if only for a night.

Lying next to each other afterwards and running hands over each other. Pressing his forehead into Ludwig's and feeling his heartbeat up against his own chest.

Knowing, under it all, that they were about to part ways.

Ludwig's look was melancholy, eyes running over Feliks' face restlessly. Feliks wished he could have thought of something good to say, something witty and stupid, something funny, but in that moment all words fled and he couldn't find anything to say at all.

What could one say, right there on the brink?

'Goodbye'?

Didn't want to say that, but knew it was inevitable.

Surely enough, Ludwig eventually gave one last caress of his cheek and then rolled over and sat up, pulling himself to his feet. The hour was very late, and before long Feliks would have to leave to go to the office. The beginning of the end. Ludwig dressed, as Feliks did, and then they sat beside each other on the edge of the bed, staring at each other as if it would be the last time.

It probably was.

"You need to go," Feliks murmured, as he reached up to smooth back Ludwig's messy hair. "Go back to Berlin. It's not too late. If you leave now, you'll be fine."

Ludwig looked so miserable, so devastated, but only for a moment before he pulled himself very quickly back together. Typical. Ludwig was simply unshakeable.

"Right," Ludwig replied surely, although his voice trembled. "You won't leave?"

Nice try.

Feliks shook his head, and Ludwig's look was that of regret.

Still, Ludwig stood up, leaned down to kiss Feliks' forehead, rested his hands on Feliks' shoulders, and muttered, into his hair, "You're the dumbest man I've ever met. And the most annoying. I wish you would leave. Who will tell me awful jokes?"

Feliks scoffed, rested his hands atop Ludwig, and grumbled, "That's a weird damn way to tell a guy you love him, but fine. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. I've managed to stay out of trouble this long. Go. You should hurry. I'll... Write me, when you get there safely. You know the address."

Ludwig nodded, lingered for a while, and then pulled back.

Feliks thought perhaps he was blinking a bit quickly, but that could have been a trick of the moonlight.

A mournful farewell.

"Goodbye, Feliks. Please, be safe."

Feliks tried to smile, and uttered, weakly, "Yeah. I'll see you soon."

Neither of them seem convinced, but Ludwig left all the same, and Feliks didn't sleep. Tossed and turned all night, and could smell Ludwig there in the bed. What a goddamn shame, to get him and then let him go.

He lied there for a few tormented hours before it was time to get up.

It would have been a normal Friday morning, if Feliks hadn't been petrified under the surface, nervous and jittery. That awful sense of foreboding. Was he being intentionally stubborn and foolish? Very likely, but he already considered himself dull and useless and fleeing now from whatever awful thing was coming would have only made Feliks feel more cowardly.

He was many things, but he wasn't a coward. Would see this through to the end, whatever it was.

He tried to keep his hands steady as he dressed and tied back his hair, glancing frequently at the bed in the lingering throes of disbelief. Sure as hell didn't want to die now, not now, not when someone cared about him. Ludwig; didn't want to die if Ludwig saw him there.

He clung to pride and bravery, and set out for work, looking over his shoulder every few seconds as he walked in the night. Paranoid and scared. He reached the post office with no incident, right at three as always, and heaved a sigh of relief.

Damn, though...couldn't get his hands to stop shaking as he set to work, and Feliks' mind suddenly was very much upon those machine guns and rifles in the basement.

A while later the director came to work, made coffee as always, and Feliks was the first that day to grab some because he certainly needed the extra boost and courage. Couldn't stop looking up at the door every time someone walked in, jumping and panicking.

Pitiful.

Perhaps rightfully so.

They noticed how jittery he was, and one of the other men teased, "What's up, Feliks? Had some bad dreams last night? You finally push someone too far, huh? Did your bad jokes get you in trouble?"

And then, as Feliks scoffed and tried to laugh, coffee in hand, the power suddenly went out.

Utter and complete darkness. The whir of dying electricity.

Terror.

Feliks jumped up in horror, blinded and pumped full of dread and adrenaline, and damn near started screeching hysterically, but was deathly silent in the end, as everyone stood still and listened.

Nothing. Darkness and silence.

Someone fumbled their way over to the phone, picked it up, and then cursed, "The phone's out. Damn."

Ludwig's warning, ringing endlessly in his ears.

Someone else sighed, and said, "I'll go see what's happening."

He brushed by Feliks as he made for the door, and Feliks snatched out, grabbed his arm, and hissed, "No! No one go out. I think we should get in the basement. Get the guns. Bar the doors."

Silence.

A burst of light suddenly, from an oil lamp someone had scrounged up. Feliks regretted that everyone could now see how damn scared he was, but he supposed many of them looked the same. He glanced at his watch; four in the morning.

Shit, maybe he should have listened to Ludwig—

"Everyone stay calm," the director murmured, and as Feliks fell into a blurred sense of reality, they barred the doors, blocked the windows, and retrieved the guns from the basement. Feliks and another man hauled up a chest of the grenades. They didn't even know why or what they were waiting for, but knew that it wasn't going to be anything pleasant. Better safe than sorry.

They had barely finished setting up one of the machine guns in the corner of the window when there was an explosion, very far in the distance. A rumble, a boom, and that unnerving stillness afterwards. Feliks' hands had no hope of being still then, shaking so badly he could barely even hold the damn rifle he had strapped over his chest.

Everyone was armed, and somewhat ready, which was ideal considering that one minute after that explosion, there was a ruckus from outside, lights shining in through the cracks of the window and door.

They huddled down, to stay out of the line of fire should it occur, and waited.

Several minutes later, a voice shouted, through a megaphone, "Everyone come out with your hands in the air! One at a time! No harm will come to you!"

The soldiers had told them to defend the post office for six hours. Six hours suddenly seemed impossible, daunting, with the paramilitary right outside their door. What was happening? Too much for Feliks' reeling mind to really comprehend.

The director looked over them all, and said, "You know what we're supposed to do."

Everyone nodded. No one tried to talk their way into leaving. They all stood their ground.

The voice outside shouted again, "Come out! Now! This is your final warning! We will storm the building by force!"

No one moved. Feliks breathed through his mouth, tried to steady his hands, and hoped to god he didn't die here today, because Ludwig was out there somewhere.

They waited and listened, and shortly afterwards came the shattering of glass from one of the blocked windows. The barricade was steadily broken down, they opened fire, Feliks swearing that his life was flashing before his eyes, and then there was an awful, blazing explosion that blinded him for a moment, as someone had thrown a grenade at the breached window to repel the militia.

It worked, for just a moment, and they ran forward to reform the barricade.

After that, assault after assault came, but each failed, the post office wasn't breached, and Feliks compulsively checked his watch. Six hours. Just six hours. Each felt like eternity.

Only six hours.

Three passed, another strong push from the militia, once more repelled, and the machinegun fire had long since made it hard for Feliks to hear clearly.

Four hours.

A few more grenades were used, and the men went downstairs to haul one more chest up from the basement.

Five hours.

Everyone was scared and jittery, waiting so impatiently for salvation. For the army to come save them, as they desperately needed.

Feliks checked his watch. Ten in the morning. It had been six hours now since the power had been cut. So where was the relief? Why weren't they here yet? Maybe there was just a minor delay. They waited, and Feliks' foot tapped relentlessly against the wall as he sat there on the floor, rifle pointed to the window above him and finger ever on the trigger.

Around eleven, an unpleasant addition; there was a new noise from the street, and someone gathered the courage to peer out from a crack.

A gasp of delight, and a cry.

"A tank!"

A surge of hope. Vigor renewed, and everyone perked up. Oh god—had the army come at last? They couldn't hold out for much longer.

Someone asked, eagerly, "The army has come?"

A hesitation.

Another gasp, this one very different, and the man quickly changed tune and hissed, "Shit! No, that's not our army. That's— It's the SS!"

The SS?

Dead silence, and in that awful quiet, everything came together. It wasn't an internal coup of the city of Gdansk to get rid of the last Polish citizens. It was a German invasion. The German Army had come, and that was the awful thing that Ludwig had tried to save him from.

No one spoke, and all hope died. Their army wasn't coming to save them. It had been more than six hours, and now if the army came they would be facing off against a far superior army, and would be no match.

They were on their own.

Danzig militia and police were suddenly joined by the SS, and terror was amplified. Everyone realized in that moment that they were done for.

Someone whispered, weakly, "We should surrender."

The director held strong, and said, "No! We're going to do our job. We're not done yet. The army could still come. We don't know what's happening. We have to hold out."

So they did, as best they could, despite the reinforcements. Somehow, this unassuming building was very much surviving the shelling it was receiving. Was performing astoundingly, and Feliks liked to imagine that the Danzig militia outside were positively livid. Surely they were, because there were very long stretches of silence and absolutely nothing, as no doubt the militia conspired with the SS on how to breach the building and were getting frustrated.

All they could do was wait.

After what felt like eternity, there was another shout through the speaker.

"Come out! We won't fire! You have two hours to decide!"

"What does that mean?" someone frantically asked.

"A ceasefire," the director muttered. "They want us to surrender."

They all looked around at each other, and Feliks could see that so many of them wanted to surrender. Nobody wanted to die, no one, however brave they were, but no one wanted to be a coward, either, and in the end no one spoke up.

They used that two hour ceasefire to gather their courage and pray the army would come.

They didn't.

When time was up, the voice called again, "Well? Come out! You've had time! Surrender now and we won't fire at you!"

Their silence was telling, and he could hear the militia leader screaming in anger then even without the megaphone.

Feliks scoffed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried very hard then to fall into his mind and recall the scent of Ludwig's hair, because it was a hell of a lot more comforting than gunpowder and smoke.

For one beautiful moment, he had it, could smell it, could hold it there, but as always it was interrupted by something new.

Feliks opened his eyes and tilted his head, crinkled in brow, listened hard, and then asked, "Do you hear that? What is that?"

Distant thumping. Whirring. Strange sounds he couldn't really place.

Not too much time to think about it, really, because shortly after the entire wall on the east end of the building was blown up in an explosion that threw them all backwards. Knocked senseless, hearing shot out and ears ringing, Feliks could only try to see through the dust and smoke and figure out which way to aim his damn rifle. The dull thudding of the machinegun going off; he could feel the vibration through the floor more than he could hear it.

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him upright.

The wall had partially collapsed, and the soldiers tried to storm. The director was screaming and waving his arm. Feliks couldn't hear a damn word he said, but knew that he was ushering them all to the basement. They fled, setting off a few more grenades as they went, and barricaded themselves in the basement.

In a sense then, they were completely trapped.

The rest of the building had been taken.

They sat down against the wall, guns aimed at the door, and hearing steadily returned.

Feliks felt in that moment, covered in blood and dirt and staring up at the bolted door from beneath the scope of a rifle, that he was never going to leave this building alive.

Just when he had found someone that could stand him, too. That figured.

They waited, and time passed, but the soldiers above couldn't break the reinforced door down as easily as they would have liked. Feliks imagined they would just plant more explosives before long, and felt the lethargy set in. Damn. He was exhausted. Nothing left in him at all. So he lied there, shoulder to shoulder with his bloodied coworkers, and stared at that door.

In his head, though, he just saw Ludwig.

The minutes dragged.

Once more, a terrifying development : the sudden sharp, pungent smell of gasoline. Feliks looked around, dumbly, and saw that, from a pump, the basement was being flooded with petrol. The hairs on his arms and neck stood up straight in terror, when he realized that they were about to be set on fire.

Everyone else realized it, too, and their choices weren't great on either end, but if the choice was being shot to death or burnt alive then Feliks would gladly face that gun, and bolted for the stairs, most of the others right with him. A few remained, either too scared to come back up or too stupefied to move. They struggled to unbolt the door and escape, and did so just in time.

When the hand grenade was thrown, the gasoline ignited.

Feliks found himself hunkered down in the remnants of the first level, as the basement burned below him. God, that awful screaming of the men that had stayed below. The worst sounds he had ever imagined he could hear. Horrific.

He looked around, dumbly, and absurdly remembered that the night before he had been safe at home, in the arms of someone that didn't care that he was mundane and unexceptional. Could have listened to Ludwig, and would have been fine right now. Instead, he was in a burning building, with a tank and soldiers and rifles surrounding him.

Well, hell. Guessed it would be an eventful and memorable death, if nothing else. Could maybe take some kind of comfort in that. His life may have been dull and boring, but his death certainly wasn't.

Stupid.

"We're surrendering," the director finally said, in desperation, because there was absolutely no other choice. The flames below were brutal, the heat stifling them, and the smoke was thick, rising. Harder to breathe very second.

People scrambled, and they made a little white flag. The director took it, bravely, and said, "Wait here."

They did.

The director walked out of the building, white flag in hand.

They watched, breathlessly, and jumped and cried out when he was shot. Fuckin' Christ—

A scream from outside.

"The rest of you can surrender! Come out! You won't be shot!"

That wasn't right, wasn't fair at all, the bastards, but there was no choice because the building was on fire and no one could breathe. So what could they do? Stay put and die for sure, or run out and risk it. They ran, and very quickly, because the heat was unbearable.

They weren't shot.

Someone grabbed Feliks' collar the second his foot hit the steps, and dragged him over to the side and slammed him up against the wall of the adjacent building. Feliks could say he had never been as stupefied as he was in that moment. Felt dazed and senseless. Far away. As if he had been thrust far up into the atmosphere. Everything was slow, dull, blurry. Distant.

Chaos, absolute chaos.

The building was roaring up in flames, people were screaming. Feliks looked around, and saw his injured coworkers being tended by an SS medic, the director amongst them, other captured men lined up against the wall, rifles in their backs. The building began to collapse further, and the soldiers dragged the men out of the path of the flames and threw them all up against the building across the street.

Feliks just stumbled along in a daze.

Damn. What a great time to get himself killed, after coming close to having something he had always wanted and needed. Ludwig would be better off without him, yeah, but Feliks couldn't say the same.

Minutes passed. How many, Feliks couldn't say. A half hour perhaps, more.

The uninjured men were suddenly thrown into line, and marched off. A rifle in Feliks' back nudged him into line, and he tumbled along, feeling suddenly dizzy and lethargic.

Could barely lift his head.

Now what?

He looked around in a daze, vision a bit blurry and head pounding, veins pulsing and heart thudding, as he assessed this idiotic situation he had put himself into and if there was any possible way to save his own life.

He was the last person in line. The SS soldier behind him, a damn pale bastard that Feliks would have instantly recognized had he seen him prior, was not one of the men that had dragged Feliks out of the building and thrown him against the wall. This man hadn't seen him before that moment, and there was absolutely nothing to lose.

So Feliks stepped right out of line, lowering his hands down to his chest, and tried to walk onto the sidewalk.

The soldier, as expected, screamed at him and immediately pointed the rifle right in his face, barking, "What are you doing? Get back in line!"

Gathering his meager bravery, Feliks retorted, "This is a mistake! I'm a German. I'm not Polish. I didn't have anything to do with this. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let me go. I haven't done anything wrong. How dare you mix me up with this lot!"

Bullshit. He was covered in soot, smelled like gunpowder and blood, and very clearly had been involved in some skirmish. No one would ever believe he was some poor German citizen that had just gotten caught up in a fire in the middle of the day in a blocked off street.

What could he say? He was desperate. Better to try than just go quietly.

The soldier scoffed derisively, slammed the muzzle of the gun into Feliks' chest, and pushed him forcibly back into line.

Shit.

"Shut the hell up and keep walking. We'll figure everything out when we get there, if you _are_ German." The tone of the soldier's voice could scarcely have been more condescending had he given actual effort.

God, where was 'there'? A prison or a court or a field—all ended with him being dead, sooner or later.

"Did you hear what I said?" Feliks nearly shouted, as he twisted his head to look over his shoulder at the soldier shoving him along. "I'm German! You can't do this to me. I'm not Polish. What's the matter with you? Let me go!"

He tried once more to step out of line, and once more failed.

" _Hey_! I'll shoot you!"

The soldier's hand tangled in his collar and yanked him back in line, furiously, and Feliks tried, again, "I'm telling you! I'm German. I just forgot my damn ID. Let me go."

The butt of the rifle in his back, and a gruff, irritated, "Shut the hell up, already! I told you, we'll figure it out when we get there. Keep moving."

Fuck, he was dead. Shoulda listened to Ludwig, had to be proud and stubborn, had to be so stupid, always had to join in and cause a damn ruckus, always had to be right, had to get himself into trouble.

Pressing his luck, Feliks said, one final time, "You're making a mistake. I'm German. What's the matter with you?"

The pale soldier hit him again with the rifle, once more hissing, "Shut up! You're annoying me."

Was dead either way, really, so didn't feel like he was actually risking all that much. He was being marched now to execution, not a real trial, and everyone present knew it.

For Feliks' efforts, they lagged a good distance behind the other captured men and soldiers.

He was pushed along for a while through the cobbled streets, and then there was a loud voice suddenly, very nearby and very familiar.

"Gilbert!"

Ludwig?

Feliks looked around in a panic, and sure enough there was Ludwig, in his Nazi Party uniform for the first time that Feliks had ever seen, running over and looking about as panicked as Feliks felt.

Ludwig? What was he still doing here? Shoulda been gone—

"Gilbert!"

The pale soldier removed his rifle from Feliks' back, turned his attention to Ludwig as he came skidding up, and very quickly snatched Ludwig's collar as he had Feliks'. Feliks stopped walking, as the soldier shook Ludwig and shouted, "What are you _doing_ here? I told you to go back to Berlin! Why are you here? Huh? Go home. Get _outta_ here!"

Ludwig staggered when the soldier shoved him backwards, but caught himself, eyes locked onto Feliks'. An awful stare, and then Ludwig turned back to the soldier and said, angrily, "What are _you_ doing? This is my friend."

Very helpfully, Feliks said, "Lutz, I told him already I was German, but he didn't believe me."

The soldier whirled around with the intent of striking Feliks again with the rifle, but was held still by Ludwig.

A curse of fury, a glare of annoyance, and the soldier looked back and forth between Feliks and Ludwig, and then said, crankily, "What—you know this guy?"

"I told you," Ludwig said, with a slight tremor, "We're friends. Let him go. He's German. What are you doing?"

"My job," the soldier threw back, but all the same, after a very angry looking over of the two, the soldier reached out, grabbed Feliks' arm, and practically threw him at Ludwig's chest. "Get out of here, then," he spat, as he waved them off. "Go!"

Oh, god—

From that look on the soldier's face, it was very clear to Feliks that not once had that soldier truly believed Feliks was German. Knew damn well that it was a Pole he was throwing into Ludwig's arms, an enemy combatant, and Feliks had scarcely ever felt so terrorized as he did in that moment, as that soldier gave Feliks one final look over, and then shouted again to Ludwig, urgently, " _Go_!"

They did go, very quickly, Ludwig leading the way and Feliks' heart pounding so furiously he was certain he would faint before he made it to wherever Ludwig was taking him.

Saved from certain death by those two men.

Jittery and unable to stop panting, Feliks asked, stupidly, "Who was that?"

"He's my brother," Ludwig muttered, walking very briskly. "I told you to leave, but you're so _stupid_."

Yeah. Yeah, he was.

"You're still here, too," Feliks retorted, and Ludwig was very silent, glaring quickly over. Still very high on his brush with death, Feliks added, with false bravado, "You stayed just for me, huh? I knew you would. I think you like me."

Ludwig shook his head.

Suddenly, they were in front of Feliks' door, and Ludwig watched impatiently as Feliks fumbled the key several times before turning the lock.

"Go," Ludwig urged, shoving him along. "Hurry. You have a suitcase?"

"In the bedroom closet."

"I'll start packing your clothes," Ludwig offered. "Go take a bath. Get cleaned up. You have to get out of here as soon as possible."

The need was dire, and Feliks wasted no time.

Some stupid part of him still didn't want to go, didn't want to be alone again, didn't want to be vulnerable and isolated in some distant land far from home.

No choice; to remain was certain death.

He washed himself as quickly as he could, changed into new clothes, and he and Ludwig together packed up his suitcase with essential items. He scrambled for his documents and papers, every bit of money he could find, and it took Ludwig sitting on top of the suitcase for Feliks to be able to zip it.

Well then.

Supposed this was farewell.

Ludwig led the quick walk to the door, Feliks followed, and it was Ludwig's presence perhaps, in his Nazi Party uniform, that got Feliks to the train station safely. He bought a ticket to Warsaw, and figured he would just wing it from there. See how far he could get.

They stared at each other for a while on the platform as they waited for the train, and Feliks regretted above all else that he couldn't just kiss Ludwig one more time. All he could do was drop the suitcase and hug the bastard, for the final time. A pitiful way to thank the man that had saved his life, but he had nothing else.

Ludwig's crinkled brow was the only thing that gave away how torn up he must have been, because otherwise he appeared perfectly composed.

An awful silence, as Feliks' hand lingered on Ludwig's arm, and then Ludwig murmured, "Be safe. I can only hope from here. I'm sorry I can't help more."

"You've helped more than enough," Feliks replied, lowly. "I owe you. Tell your brother, too, that I— I'll do anything for you two, one day. When it's over, I'll repay you, one way or another."

"There's nothing to repay."

Yeah, sure.

Feliks looked Ludwig over, regretfully, and said, "You need to leave, too. Go back to Berlin. Get out of here."

Ludwig nodded, clapped Feliks' arm, and then turned to walk away with a rather thick, "Goodbye."

Oh, god, how he hated seeing Ludwig walking away.

Parting ways, likely forever.

Yet another thing that hadn't worked out the way Feliks had really wanted.

"Hey!" Feliks called, at the last second.

Ludwig stopped, turned back, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment, patiently waiting.

Feliks felt himself smiling, in spite of it all, and lifted his fist up into the air.

"Hey. When it's all over, I'm gonna look for you. Don't go getting yourself killed, alright?"

A rather calm stare between them, as Ludwig stared back at him serenely. A rare moment of utter peace, looking into each other's eyes. Then Ludwig scoffed, waved a hand in the air, and threw back, "I should be saying that to _you_. You're the stupid one, not me. If either of us will die, I think your chances are greater than mine."

Feliks scoffed in turn, and grumbled, "You're a bastard. I can't wait to see you again, so... Good luck. But hey, work on your jokes, man. They're awful."

Ludwig bowed his head a bit politely, took a step back, and merely said, "Likewise. And godspeed."

They turned aside then, and carried on their ways.

Now Feliks just had to be smart enough to survive this apparent war without Ludwig there to save him again. His chances seemed pretty fifty-fifty. He was ready for the challenge, with the motivating goal of seeing Ludwig again on the other side of whatever border.

He held to that hope.


	9. HARMONIA (SweGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : SweGer. Shameless fluff. Mute!Berwald.

**HARMONIA**

For the most part, Ludwig loved his job. Not many people really got to work with their big brother in a setting they enjoyed, so Ludwig considered himself rather lucky in that aspect.

Francis had opened a bakery, and Gilbert, being his best friend, had of course joined in. Ludwig, considering Francis his other big brother in a sense, had immediately asked to be a part of it as well. Francis had been happy to have Ludwig with him, because Ludwig had a penchant for baking as much as Francis did, as Gilbert just sort of clamored about and tried his best while usually making a mess.

But Gilbert had no people skills, and so Ludwig had been relegated to working the counter. It was his first job ever, being only eighteen, but he was a hell of a lot more efficient with customers than Gilbert was. Francis was relieved, to say the least.

The shop did very well, and they were all quite content with their positions. Ludwig, for his part, got a needed dose of adulting, and learned to interact with people normally. He wasn't talkative at all, but dutifully nodded his head and added necessary input when regulars chewed his ear off. He liked it, liked seeing familiar faces. Liked seeing the same people on the same days ordering the same thing. Made his sense of order and routine feel quite secure, and even though Francis literally worked him seven days a week, Ludwig loved it.

Everyone had their favorites, of course, and Ludwig had his own particular favorite customer.

He was Ludwig's favorite because he didn't talk at all, and Ludwig was very excited about that, communicating entirely with nods and eye contact. It was a nice change from the old ladies that babbled endlessly and the young girls that tried to flirt with him.

Ludwig's favorite man was...odd.

Very tall, very big. Rather intimidating. Frightening at a glance, for his stature and very serious face, but it hadn't taken many visits for Ludwig to realize he was entirely harmless. Big and gruff as he was, he was always very calm and polite. Smiled from time to time. His clothes were a little sloppy, never ironed his shirt, and his glasses could have used a bit of a cleaning. His blond hair was always rather messy. Seemed laidback enough, rather amicable, despite his appearance.

But he didn't speak, and Ludwig wasn't sure if he didn't speak German and that was why he nodded and pointed, or if he just didn't speak at all. Ludwig had far too much tact to ever ask, and indeed he never uttered a word to that man because that man never uttered a word to him. They just briefly met each other's eyes, smiled, inclined their heads, and left it there.

That man came almost every day, with the exception of Sunday and Tuesday.

By now, the man didn't even bother pointing anymore, because Ludwig knew his order and gathered it up the second he saw him coming in. Nothing fancy, just a coffee to go and a few pieces of sweet bread. The man always seemed quite pleased by Ludwig knowing his mind, smiling rather attractively as he pulled out his wallet, and sometimes Ludwig felt that the man lingered for a while in front of the register and gave him a bit of a look over.

He may have also been Ludwig's favorite customer because Ludwig found him very handsome.

They went many weeks merely staring at each other, until one day the man came in, dressed far more neatly than he usually was. Ludwig had eyed him up and down, smiled a little at his appearance, and began gathering up his usual order. He was interrupted when the man came up to the counter and slid a piece of paper across it.

Ludwig glanced down, startled, and took it.

It was a list of many different things, and Ludwig was quick to realize that the man was apparently buying for a larger group of people. Ah—so he couldn't speak, after all. Ludwig assumed he was deaf, but when he meant to scribble his inquiry of whether the man wanted a plastic or paper bag, the man gestured and caught his attention.

He pointed to his ear and made a motion that Ludwig could only interpret as, 'I can hear you.'

Oh.

Mute, then. Interesting. Had never met anyone that just couldn't speak. Feeling a bit awkward and a little embarrassed for whatever reason, Ludwig tried to play it off, as he gathered the requested items, and said, "I just thought you didn't wanna talk to me. I'm glad."

Why had he said that?

Ah, shit—now he felt more embarrassed than before. And he accused Gilbert of having no people skills. Damn, damn, damn!

Luckily, the man was far from offended, and smiled more sincerely than Ludwig had ever seen. A pretty smile, and Ludwig fumbled around for a while, feeling dumb and classless. When it came time for payment, the man scribbled another note and handed it over.

Just a simple greeting of sorts.

'My name is Berwald. You are?'

Ludwig perked up, relieved he hadn't lost a customer, and felt himself smiling as he said, "I'm Ludwig. Nice to meet you. Sort of."

He stuck his hand awkwardly forward, the man shook it, and that was when he officially met Berwald for the first time. Interesting name. Hadn't heard that one.

Berwald took his leave, as he always did, and Ludwig zoned out a little and daydreamed. Berwald was actually very handsome indeed, and seemed like a nice enough guy. Older than Ludwig was by a fair bit, but he always came in alone and Ludwig sure as hell didn't see a wedding ring on his finger. Not that he had looked every day or anything. Certainly not.

Handsome, alright.

Being mute was hardly a turnoff. Actually, Ludwig considered that very much a positive, because he didn't talk much either and lord knew between Gilbert and Francis he heard enough chatter to last a lifetime. Was kinda nice, that silence. Strange, getting to know someone through written word.

He spent the day pondering this and that, and when it was time to close up, Ludwig swept the floor and then asked Francis, out of the blue, "Hey—do mute people learn sign language like deaf people do?"

Francis and Gilbert turned to look at him, cleaning up, and seemed perplexed.

Francis lifted a shoulder, and uttered, "Um. I don't know. Kinda random."

Gilbert scoffed a little, as he often did when his little brother was being strange.

Ludwig mulled it over, and could really only wait until the next day to see Berwald and just ask him. Maybe he was a bit too interested in Berwald, a little too curious, but Ludwig was quite single indeed.

The next day, Berwald came in at his usual time, and Ludwig straightened up perfectly and smiled, because he was beginning to hone in on Berwald and Berwald wasn't going to easily escape him now that they had introduced themselves.

Berwald saw his smile, quirked a brow, and lifted his chin, very clearly asking, 'What?'

As he made Berwald's coffee, Ludwig rested his elbow on the counter, chin in palm, and looked Berwald over quite intently. Berwald held his gaze very evenly, and Ludwig asked, "So. Do you use sign language?"

Because if so then Ludwig would absolutely sit down and learn it. Not because Berwald didn't have a wedding ring, though.

He glanced down at Berwald's hand, subconsciously.

But Berwald shook his head, and just made a gesture for writing. No sign language, huh? That made it easier. Supposed Berwald was used to just writing everything down. Ludwig straightened back up, looked around a little, and shifted his weight. Wanted so badly to put himself out there a little, but didn't want to come off as desperate and pathetic, and more than that he didn't want to fumble and make a fool of himself in front of this older man.

Shit.

He stayed silent in the end, and merely handed Berwald his things as Berwald smiled at him.

Ludwig considered himself quite the failure.

At least until the next day, and Berwald came through the door. Ludwig had been shocked, taken off guard, because it was Sunday and Berwald never came on Sunday. Their eyes met, as always, and Ludwig set about making the coffee as Berwald came up to the counter. Another note was set atop it, along with a little blue flower.

Ludwig took them, face burning, and felt his heart start hammering.

A phone number.

Obviously it was Berwald's, and Ludwig tried so hard not to smile like an idiot but utterly failed, and tucked the number and flower away in his breast pocket to show Berwald that he was very, very interested in calling him, thanks so much.

Er, texting rather.

Berwald seemed pleased, straightened up very tall and confidently, and carried on his way. Ludwig smiled stupidly all day, and Gilbert noticed when they were cleaning up.

"What's gotten into you?"

Ludwig shook his head, because Gilbert would highly disapprove of Berwald, if only for his age. Would avoid confrontation for as long as possible, and that very evening, as soon as he was alone in his room, Ludwig plopped stomach-down on his bed and began texting Berwald.

That wasn't pitiful or desperate, right?

Right.

Eh, didn't care, he really didn't, and hunkered down, feet swaying up in the air as he sent his greeting and therefore number to Berwald. He must not have been _that_ pitiful, because his phone buzzed immediately.

His heart pounded and his excitement was high, as he began a conversation with someone he was interested in. From time to time, he glanced toward his door, perhaps guiltily, as if waiting for Gilbert to burst in and get onto his case. Felt like a little kid then, and certainly was lying like one.

Berwald was very quick to ask for a coffee date, and Ludwig was even quicker to accept.

 _Yes_ —!

Triumphant, Ludwig spent the rest of the night getting to know Berwald a little. Basic things, and answering Berwald's questions in turn, so that they would have general knowledge of each other before they met again face to face.

Berwald was twenty-eight, had been born in Sweden, worked for a literary company, and was not, indeed, married.

Not that Ludwig didn't already know that.

As it turned out, sneaking out four days later to go on that first date was actually really easy, because Gilbert and Francis were too busy playing video games to even really look up when Ludwig called, 'I'm going out. I'll be back later.'

Gilbert just cursed, and then answered, 'Yeah, sure.'

He felt terrified and elated and everything in between, and walked inside of the agreed upon café twenty minutes early. He wasn't desperate. He wasn't. Felt pretty pathetic, though, sitting at the table in the corner and waiting. A vulnerable feeling that he couldn't say he much liked.

But Berwald came, right on time to the very minute, and Ludwig lifted his head and tried to wave, but it came off as more of an awkward jerk, because Ludwig was terrible in every social interaction that he attempted. Berwald smiled regardless, and was quick to sit down before him.

...and now what?

Ludwig had never been on a date. Ever. That may have been very painfully obvious, because Berwald snorted a bit and was the one to go up to the counter and order them coffee.

Ludwig took note of Berwald's neater than normal appearance, his cleaned glasses and pressed shirt. His eyes fell then to the board held in Berwald's hand. Curious. Berwald had a rather professional looking little whiteboard, the size of a book, and it was very clearly well-used. Ludwig had never seen such a thing and found it as fascinating as anything else, more so the eraser, attached to the top and sliding down, which allowed Berwald to erase the entire board with one motion and no mess.

Ludwig may have just been easily amused.

Berwald saw Ludwig's nervousness and helplessness, and began writing. Ludwig shifted, squirmed, and took the board when Berwald passed it to him. He was momentarily distracted by how pretty Berwald's writing was. The best handwriting he had ever seen, but then that was probably because Berwald, unlike most people nowadays, actually still had to write things out by hand.

He turned his eyes to the words.

'My very first date was with a guy who took me to a karaoke bar. Halfway through he stood up and tried to get me to go onstage with him before he remembered. He was so embarrassed he never contacted me again. So don't be nervous. It can't get worse than that.'

Ludwig, despite his anxiety, started laughing.

It was horrifically embarrassing, and Ludwig cackled for a good minute before he handed the board back to Berwald, wiped his eyes, and said, breathlessly, "That makes me feel so much better."

It actually really did, and Berwald's smile was wide enough then to show his teeth, and it was quite nice to see.

After that, the date went very well, as far as Ludwig was concerned. Somehow, Ludwig very much enjoyed watching Berwald writing his responses, that feeling of anticipation as he waited. Rewarding, in some odd way, to be given a response in such a manner.

Ludwig smiled the entire two hours they sat there in the café, and Berwald looked calm. Tranquil. Leaning back in his chair and shoulders low, Berwald looked very at ease and very content, and that gave Ludwig far more confidence than he could have ever had otherwise.

His smile grew wider when he read the board when the sun had set.

'Is a second date on the books by chance?'

"Absolutely," Ludwig very quickly (not pathetically) replied, sitting up and eyes wide and looking foolish no doubt, elated and excited.

A second date! Incredible. The first had been enough of a miracle. Getting a second seemed rather beautifully apocalyptic.

More small talk, and then the farewell. Berwald made a motion to stand and Ludwig, so painfully awkward, bolted upright so quickly to join him that he slammed his hip into the table and nearly knocked it over. The chair tottered, and Ludwig nearly fell on his face as he snatched out to keep it from falling, tripping and staggering. Pulled himself straight up eventually, still alive if barely, and felt humiliated. Goddammit—his face was throbbing red, and when Berwald came forward and lifted his arms slightly at his sides in what could have very well been intent to hug him goodbye, Ludwig fumbled and stuck out his hand, stupidly. Berwald eyed it, brow high and smile crooked, but saved Ludwig from death by embarrassment by engaging in a very ridiculous handshake.

Ludwig's eyes were straight ahead and staring dumbly into Berwald's chest, far too mortified to make eye contact.

Had blown that one so hard.

For his part, Berwald seemed highly amused, humored Ludwig's pitiful writhing, and after the godawful handshake ended Berwald just snorted and clapped Ludwig on the shoulder and walked away. Ludwig lingered, waiting until Berwald was well enough away before he darted out of the café and walked home with his head down and face still red.

Had never been so embarrassed.

Well—! Embarrassed or not, he still had his second date, and the very next evening Berwald texted him and asked if he wanted to go for a walk out near the lake. Maybe Berwald thought being outdoors would be safer for Ludwig to prevent him from knocking over tables and chairs or slamming into doors and walls.

Ludwig agreed.

The lake date was better than the café date by far, if only because Ludwig felt more comfortable outside and was a little less awkward. It was nice, to walk along the trails and paths in the cool spring air, to see the trees flowering and the flowers blooming. They sat on a bench overlooking the lake after a good while of silent walking, and rested in the shade.

After a while of chatting and scribbling, Berwald lifted up his arm and put it on the back of the bench. Ludwig held his breath and waited, face very red for the hundredth time that week, but Berwald didn't lower his arm.

Not that time.

He did that on the third date, when they went back to that same bench. Ludwig jumped a little in surprise, stiffened up in uncertainty, and then found the courage to scoot over just enough to press his side into Berwald's. Wasn't brave enough that time to rest his head against Berwald's shoulder.

That he did on the fourth date.

That evening, when they parted ways, Berwald leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Ludwig was very up in the clouds these days, and found himself texting Berwald every chance he had, phone always glued to his face and always in his hand.

His favorite part of work now was, naturally, when Berwald came in on his usual schedule, because now when Ludwig gave Berwald his change Berwald always gripped his hand, for just a moment.

It was certainly the most important thing in Ludwig's life at present.

Gilbert was rather annoyed with him, because he no longer sat with Gilbert and Francis and chatted and played with them. Gilbert was suspicious, no doubt, but Ludwig was hardly bothered.

Ludwig was so focused and intent on texting Berwald that he rounded the corner one morning and ran straight into Gilbert, their foreheads slamming rather unpleasantly. Gilbert fussed at him, as usual, and watched him suspiciously for the rest of the day. Ludwig knew that Gilbert was letting his mind wander, but so be it! Ludwig was absolutely laser-focused on Berwald, and let nothing shake him.

The lake had become their routine now, because they both liked it quite a bit.

Berwald seemed right at home there, on the edge of that calm lake. Certainly an ideal match.

Ludwig watched Berwald watching the lake, and felt content. Peace and serenity was very easy to feel around Berwald, because Berwald's silence was so calming. The world was so hectic, always whirring and always moving, too fast sometimes for Ludwig to keep up with, and then Berwald just came along, ambling so slowly and carelessly, utterly unbothered by anything around him. Languid and calm, purposeful. Berwald never rushed, despite the spinning world around him, and Ludwig envied that. Berwald never fretted it seemed, never really stressed or panicked. Very still waters.

That day, Berwald invited Ludwig over to his home for the first time. He had been terrified and so excited, and when Berwald had held open his flat door, Ludwig had stood there dumbly for a moment, shifting and shuffling, and Berwald was forced to shove Ludwig through the frame.

Damn, damn, damn, why was he so awkward, damn—

After that fumble, Ludwig tried to play it off by looking around and walking as he spoke about how nice Berwald's flat was, and then promptly made a sharp 180 and smacked his forehead into a wall. He stumbled back, entirely mortified, but something rather curious happened then.

Berwald _laughed_.

The first time Ludwig had seen it, and it was the most fascinating and somehow adorable thing Ludwig had ever seen, so much so in fact that he forgot his embarrassment to gawk at Berwald instead.

There was no sound, naturally, but it was clear that Berwald was laughing, eyes squinted and shoulders shaking and chest reverberating, and at one point he snorted.

Ludwig rubbed his forehead absently as Berwald silently wheezed, and considered that awful embarrassment quite worth it.

How cute.

...even if Berwald was laughing at _him_.

He relaxed after that, found his feet, and didn't run into anything else for the rest of the evening. Berwald smiled the entire night, in such a wonderful mood, and nothing particularly audacious at all happened in that instance except that Berwald kissed him goodnight when he left. Ludwig, in another awkward fit, fumbled that, too, because Berwald leaned in to kiss his cheek and Ludwig twisted the wrong damn way and ended up pressing their lips together instead. Another awful round of mortification, but that one at least led to something else good when Berwald just ran with it as always and kissed him for real.

Excellent.

Another hurdle down, although Ludwig hadn't been clearing these hurdles so much as plowing straight into them and then tripping over them and abashedly hobbling along.

Same end goal, and his arms around Berwald's neck was a nice sensation.

After that, Berwald's flat was their new date spot, although by then it wasn't really dating anymore so much as merely hanging out together, because it was clear that they were in a relationship although neither one of them had come out and said it.

Gilbert by then was very aware that Ludwig was seeing someone, and had given him hell for it on many different occasions, demanding to meet Berwald. Ludwig, so far, had managed to get out of it every single time, one way or another, often with the aid of Francis.

A little less than a month after their first date, Ludwig found himself underneath Berwald on the bed, and that was one of the more frightening moments of his life, if only for his own anxiety and nervousness. The world didn't end, though, and Ludwig was pretty sure he didn't make a fool of himself, if Berwald's mellow smile afterwards was any indication.

Months passed in this fashion, and with each of them Ludwig spent more and more time at Berwald's and less and less time at home. Gilbert's annoyance increased, as did Ludwig's infatuation with Berwald. Francis was the most supportive person in Ludwig's life, and was who Ludwig always ran to with questions about this and that.

Had felt so dumb though, when he had sat down before Francis and asked, 'Do you think it bothers him that I want to come over every day? Am I being clingy? Am I getting on his nerves, d'ya think?'

Francis had snorted, shook his head, and simply asked, 'Does he smile when you're there?'

Ludwig nodded.

Francis' response had been succinct and simple.

'Then it doesn't bother him.'

Confidence.

Francis, the lover extraordinaire, would know after all, and Ludwig was bolstered.

Gilbert just glowered at Ludwig, and grumbled under his breath.

Ludwig spent the majority of his time these days over at Berwald's flat, spent most nights there, and yet somehow it still shocked him one night when Berwald kissed his cheek, scribbled away, and asked Ludwig quite boldly to just move in with him.

Naturally, Ludwig had immediately said yes, because he had long since accepted that he was, indeed, very pathetic for Berwald.

He was elated, and Gilbert was furious. It had been eight months, and Gilbert still hadn't met Berwald face to face thanks to Ludwig's stubbornness, but there was no longer any getting around it because Gilbert put his foot down and told Ludwig, very aggressively, that Ludwig wasn't going anywhere until Gilbert had met this mystery man.

No choice, because Gilbert wasn't asking.

It was certainly the most stressful day in Ludwig's entire existence, pacing back and forth and panicking and fretting and rambling as he tried to prepare Berwald to handle Gilbert when Gilbert was a loose damn cannon.

Berwald just smiled the entire while, and was masterfully unbothered. Had zero concern, absolutely no anxiety at all, and couldn't have been less worried about meeting Gilbert if he had actually tried.

Which worked in Ludwig's favor, because Berwald was huge and intimidating and gruff looking, absolutely an imposing man despite his sweet nature. Gilbert took one look at Berwald, opened his mouth, lost his voice, looked Berwald up and down, and apparently decided that sometimes it was wise to pick and choose your battles. Gilbert was a damn big guy, but no one would have ever exactly sought a brawl with Berwald.

So Gilbert had just crossed his arms and asked, "What are your intentions with my little brother? Hm? Don't lie to me, 'cause we know they ain't exactly holy."

Ludwig buried his face in his palm, Berwald looked flabbergasted, and Francis rolled his eyes.

Whatever Berwald scribbled to Gilbert then was a mystery, because he was too humiliated to look up.

Finding out that Berwald couldn't speak didn't exactly diffuse Gilbert in any way, nor should it have, he supposed. Gilbert glared at Berwald mistrustfully, scrutinizing him and analyzing, and seemed annoyed more than anything.

In the end, Gilbert didn't shake Berwald's hand, looked very disapproving, but finally griped to Ludwig, "Yeah, alright. Whatever. But I'm always watching you." When Berwald had wandered out of earshot, Gilbert added in a hiss, "You got weird taste. He's too old for you. I don't like it."

Disheartened but determined, Ludwig had just replied, quietly, "You don't have to like it, Gilbert. I like it. That's all that matters. I don't mess with any of your girlfriends. How old are some of _them_ , anyway?"

A tint of pink on Gilbert's cheeks.

"That's different. You're the kid, not me. I gotta look out for you."

Ludwig understood, and that was why he let it go and just let Gilbert chastise him the entire few days he packed up his things and very steadily moved in with Berwald.

Couldn't believe it! His first relationship, and here he was now moving in. What an absolute success.

To be fair, it wasn't really any different, given how frequently Ludwig had already been staying here, but there was nothing quite like saying that he lived with the man he loved.

It was wonderful.

Ludwig went to work before Berwald did, but Berwald came back home later. Ludwig would wake up very early, kiss sleeping Berwald's forehead, make breakfast, and leave some ready for Berwald for whenever he awoke. In turn, every night before Berwald came into the bedroom for sleep, he wrote a long note out on the whiteboard on the kitchen wall for Ludwig to read in the morning. Sometimes it was plans for their day, other times reminders of things they needed to do, and sometimes it was just a little love letter.

Those were Ludwig's favorite, needless to say.

Sometimes, there were flowers waiting for him on the table when he got home.

There was nothing in Ludwig's life that made him happier than waking up before dawn, holding a mug of coffee in his hand, and reading Berwald's pretty letters on the whiteboard while wearing one of Berwald's oversized sweaters.

Comfort.

Time with Berwald flew very quickly, because Berwald made Ludwig happy.

Suddenly, Ludwig looked up and realized they had been together for an entire year. Almost didn't realize it at all, however, because it had gone by so fast, until Ludwig glanced up from mopping the kitchen floor that evening to see Berwald striding inside holding a large bouquet of flowers.

A rush of adoration.

How Ludwig loved this man.

He made sure to let Berwald know it, too, and hung over him for the rest of the day, coddling him and pampering him and expressing his gratitude in a far more physical manner once night came.

Time kept on flying from there.

They had fallen into a very comfortable routine, and finally, nearly two years after they had been together, Gilbert called Ludwig and said, 'Hey, Lutz. Come over for dinner tomorrow night. Bring your man.'

Ludwig smiled so widely it hurt his face, and he had very happily agreed.

Acceptance from Gilbert, at long last. Support had been great, but acceptance was better. Maybe Gilbert just missed Ludwig and was ready to have him around more, even if that meant suffering Berwald.

Dinner, however, was a little awkward.

Berwald stared extremely furiously, and Ludwig wasn't certain if he was entirely aware of it, but Gilbert stared back at Berwald, or tried to, and squirmed a little. Berwald could certainly come off as intimidating, absolutely, and Gilbert was no doubt feeling that. Berwald stared _so_ hard that someone could have easily been set ablaze. As if Berwald were literally dissecting his visual victim with his eyes. Swore that sometimes Berwald would go minutes without blinking.

But then Francis said, "Well! Berwald, I can see why Ludwig likes you. After spending a lifetime with Gilbert never shutting the hell up, this silence is actually really nice."

Ludwig and Gilbert snapped their heads over and stared at Francis in horror.

Berwald, however, very quickly dissolved into that silent laugh Ludwig adored, Francis beamed, and everything was so much easier from there as Gilbert relaxed and started yammering, as if on cue.

A very long night, but a great one, and the first thing Berwald wrote to him when they got back home was, 'Are you sure you two are related?'

Ludwig snorted, and said, "Sometimes I wonder."

Gilbert was no stranger after that, swinging by the apartment frequently and often inviting them over, and Ludwig felt as if his life were on the track he wanted it to be. Loved the way his life was now, and wanted nothing to change.

For the following three years, nothing at all did, except that Gilbert let Berwald have his daily coffee for free.

Then spring came yet again, and they had been together for six years.

That year their anniversary fell on a Saturday, Gilbert had let Ludwig take the day off, and Berwald didn't surprise Ludwig with flowers. Rather, he took Ludwig's hand, and walked him outside. Berwald led him out to the lake and took him along their favorite spring path, the one lined with flowering trees. The trail was coated with pink and white petals, drifting yet from the trees like snow when the wind blew. The sky was bright blue, cloudless. The air was cool. A pleasant day.

Ludwig leaned into Berwald's side as they walked, and when they had reached a quiet stretch, no other people in sight, just the trees and flowers, Berwald fell to a halt, turned to Ludwig, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a letter, and handed it to Ludwig.

Ludwig assumed it was one of Berwald's little love letters that he liked to write, just on paper this time instead of on the whiteboard.

He was right.

A rather short letter, and Berwald stood patiently still as Ludwig quickly read it.

_Although in some way I know it's been six years, I feel as if we've only met for the first time just yesterday. I'm still in awe, I believe, and no matter how many times I open the front door, I'm always so mystified and excited to see you there. Having you there with me is a joy I can never hope to express nor to ever truly be able to repay you for. At times, I do still have fears that you'll get bored with me and move on, and I know there's nothing I could do to stop that, and so I can only enjoy my time with you day by day. Please know that I wish above all else that I could just speak to you, to tell you everything that comes to mind, but I can't, and I'm sorry for that. You don't know how many times I've stood before the mirror in the bathroom and tried to form words. I can't. I had hoped that loving you so much would somehow make me able to speak, but unsurprisingly it hasn't. I'm sorry. But know all the same that even if I don't always express it, I love you, more than anything. I'll be here, always, whenever you need me. Even if some day we stand across from each other rather than beside, I'll always be there if ever you needed me. Happy anniversary. I hope I can claim many more. Thank you for loving me._

Shit.

Ludwig's eyes stung, and he crinkled his brow and blinked quickly, clenching his jaw for composure. Wasn't gonna stand here and cry in front of Berwald, no way. Damn, though, he had come close, and he folded the letter back up, tucked it in his jacket pocket, and steadied himself.

Hated hearing Berwald apologize for anything, and opened his mouth with the intention of saying, 'Don't ever apologize for that again.' Didn't say a thing in the end, because when he opened his mouth, nothing at all came out. Had a million things to say, and couldn't get a single one of them to come out; ha, he imagined that was what Berwald felt.

At Ludwig's foundering, Berwald snorted, and led him along. Ludwig followed him blindly, still trying to pull himself together, and before he knew it he was suddenly sitting in his own café.

A very odd sensation, having an anniversary date in Francis' bakery.

Funny, though, seeing Gilbert working the register. Gilbert must have thought it was kinda funny, too, seeing them there, because he brought over their coffees and sneered at Ludwig as he did so, leaning down to whisper, "I'm better at this than you. Everyone loves me."

"Bullshit," Ludwig hissed back. "How many of my customers have you lost?"

Gilbert straightened up, clapped Ludwig's shoulder, and said, "Only six, man. Relax. I got this."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, and Gilbert went back to his spot, staring relentlessly at them. Perhaps Ludwig should have been more suspicious, should have been put on guard by that, but was far too distracted by Berwald.

They chatted, as Ludwig sipped at his coffee, and Ludwig's mind whirred away about how he could possibly top Berwald's letter. He'd always fallen short on the anniversary gift side of things, could never outshine Berwald, no matter how hard he tried.

He was very lost in his plotting, and when he came to the last few sips of his coffee, by then lukewarm, he put them back mindlessly, and very nearly choked when something hard hit his tongue. He tried not to spit the coffee on the table, and somewhat succeeded except for what came out of his nose. He raised up his hand, spit the mystery object into his palm, and was very ready to raise hell for whatever gross prank Gilbert had pulled on him, but his wrath stopped very short when he realized that Berwald was doing that silent, wheezing laugh, and Gilbert was cackling.

He looked down dumbly into his hand, and was shocked.

...was that a _ring_?

Oh, god—

He must have been pale as a sheet then, as he stared over at Berwald in horror, as Berwald helplessly wheezed, and then he turned to gawk at Gilbert, who was laughing himself to death behind the counter.

Ludwig, stupefied and astounded, stared down at the little silver ring in his palm and tried to figure out what was happening.

Had to be some sort of misunderstanding. He was getting so far ahead of himself. They had just played a prank on him was all, and that kinda _hurt_ , actually. Getting his hopes up like that. Gilbert had slipped it into his coffee to see his reaction, no doubt, and it didn't matter if Berwald was in on it or not because it hurt just as badly either way.

His face fell, his cheeks burned red, and he was upset then because he desperately wanted this to be real and that Gilbert had been thoughtless enough to ever think this was a good idea was callous at best. He sent Gilbert his best look of utter reproach, trying hard then to save face and not cry, stood up abruptly and nearly knocked over the chair, and stalked for the door. He left the ring behind on the table.

Didn't make it very far before Berwald was on him, grabbing his arm and dragging him back.

He didn't want to look at either one of them in that instant, so offended, and tried to break free. Berwald was too powerful to escape, and before long Ludwig had been wrangled and his face shoved into Berwald's chest. Gilbert had come running over as well, no doubt alarmed at the look Ludwig had sent him, and although Ludwig squirmed hard he was unable to break free.

Because Berwald was busy holding him in place, Gilbert was the one to say, in a low whisper, "Hey, man, come on. Don't be upset, I wasn't laughing _at_ you—"

"This isn't funny," Ludwig muttered, still pressed up against Berwald and still unsuccessfully attempting to writhe out of his grasp. "What made you think this was a good idea? That wasn't _funny_! I'm sick of your stupid jokes."

A short silence, and then Gilbert whispered, in confusion, "What? It wasn't a joke. It wasn't my idea, man."

Ludwig froze up again, stunned, and dumbly looked up at Berwald.

If they were getting one over on him he swore to god he would never talk to either of them again.

Berwald was smiling, as if Ludwig's bewilderment was amusing to him, and Ludwig asked, for absolute clarification, "This isn't a joke? If you lie to me, I'll murder the both of you."

Berwald shook his head, and Gilbert scoffed, grumbling, "You jerk. I'm an asshole but Jesus Christ, I wouldn't fuckin' do _that_ , goddamn. Is that what you really think of me?"

Ludwig was immobile, dumb and silent, and Berwald dragged him back over to the table, picked the ring up, and apparently decided that assuming Ludwig's answer was good enough for him, because he just forced the ring on Ludwig's finger and seemed happy enough.

This was real. Holy shit.

Ludwig looked back and forth between Berwald and the ring, as Gilbert testily stomped back behind the counter and muttered to himself. Ludwig's decision had been made for him, from the very determined look on Berwald's face, and Ludwig was perfectly alright with that.

He came to his senses shortly afterwards and very literally leapt on Berwald, arms around Berwald's neck and his legs around Berwald's waist, clinging to him like some horrendous spider, and Gilbert was suddenly laughing again. Berwald held him up in a rather impressive show of strength, and tried to breathe as Ludwig nearly strangled him.

That was Ludwig's best day.

The indescribable comfort of Berwald's arms wrapped around him.

However many years passed and whatever things they did and saw, for Ludwig, that was always his happiest memory, funnily enough; nearly choking on his engagement ring.

Berwald's laugh.

Odd, how silence could be so profound and at times so beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (karaoke guy was totally poor, poor Timo)


	10. SATURN (RusGer, GerFem!Ita)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings! : RusGer, GerFem!Ita. 1970s. CHARACTER DEATH! This is a long one, and is not a happy story at all, so there.

**SATURN**

The uniform was itchy.

That was what Ludwig hated the most about the university. A minor grievance, perhaps, but it was remarkably irritating all the same. Whatever fabric the coarse, green overshirt was made of, it agitated him intensely and made it very difficult to focus. Spent his very first day in his very first class fidgeting in his chair, annoyed and restless, resisting the urge to scratch everywhere.

Paying attention was extremely important to Ludwig, and it was also very important to his instructor, who came up to Ludwig as soon as the lecture ended and suggested, helpfully, "Try wearing a thin button-down underneath. It will help. I've already been there."

Ludwig was embarrassed somehow, eyes on the table beneath him and mumbling apologies.

His intended course of study was chemical engineering, therefore it was extremely prudent to be fully alert and aware. He had worked far too long and hard to get into ETH Zurich, and intended to be completely and utterly perfect during his duration here for the next five years. Had left behind his brother and guardian for this, was far from home and alone, and wouldn't risk any distractions.

In the end, and very quickly, Ludwig realized that his greatest distraction in class was not his miserably itchy uniform, but the helpful professor.

Ludwig had taken one look at him and had stupidly fallen head over heels. Absurd and unprofessional, but he supposed that was rather a tale as old as time, wasn't it, a student having a crush on their teacher.

This man, in all fairness, was rather unique.

Ludwig didn't know much about him yet, considering he had just started, and so he didn't know where he was from exactly, but knew that he was Slavic. His accent was very thick, but his speech was precise and well put together. He was in his late thirties, or perhaps forty at the most. Blond and pale-eyed, rough looking. His hair was often very messy although his clothes never were. He was tall and broad, one of the larger men Ludwig had ever laid eyes upon, and it was quite funny in a way because he looked so much more like a bodybuilder or boxer than he did some normal professor of chemistry. It amused Ludwig to see him towering over everyone in class, eyes lidded and heavy and hooded, nose so prominent and sharp, looking like a very frightening vulture at times, and then to hear him speak about chains of reaction with such a soft voice. He had such a pretty voice that didn't at all match his appearance, and Ludwig liked to close his eyes sometimes and just listen to that voice murmuring away, because it was quite soothing.

His name was Ivan Braginsky, and Ludwig found him completely fascinating.

Ludwig stared at him every time he had a chance to, and sometimes the professor glanced up and caught him. At times, Ludwig looked away in mortification, and other times Ludwig stubbornly held that gaze. Since the helpful advice about itchy uniforms, they hadn't spoken to each other directly, and Ludwig thought at times about lingering for a few minutes after class.

Didn't know why. What would he say? Nothing in his head was appropriate. He didn't even know why he stared or why he was so entranced. Didn't know why he wanted to speak to that man, why he even wanted to interact beyond the basic level.

He was quite a handsome man, to Ludwig's perhaps odd tastes. Ludwig had long known that he liked both men and women, and his taste in both had always been very odd to Gilbert, who usually crinkled his nose at anyone Ludwig was eyeing. Some may have seen this professor as unappealing, but to Ludwig he was quite nice indeed. The age difference mattered little to him, as he imagined it did to most twenty-year-olds with rushing hormones.

Silly; as if Ludwig could ever just stay behind after class and walk up to that huge, intimidating man and try to flirt with him. Would have gotten knocked out, or expelled.

Ah, well. A man could dream.

Weeks passed, and Ludwig had stopped looking away altogether when the professor caught him staring. It did seem, however, that every time Ludwig glanced up nowadays the professor was already staring at him as if in wait. Ludwig never disappointed.

The first time they spoke directly again was four months into the course.

Mr. Braginsky was always locking eyes with Ludwig, and that day, Ludwig had been filing out when he had been stopped by a call of his name. He glanced back to see the professor waving him over. He was more excited by that than was appropriate, and went immediately over.

Braginsky asked, "How's the uniform lately? Not bothering you anymore?"

Ludwig shook his head, their eyes locked and Ludwig attempting to convey interest, however stupid and improper it may have been.

Braginsky looked Ludwig over, and added, "You're the quietest in the class. If you ever have any questions, you can always stay after, and I'll be glad to help. You never speak."

How he loved that accent.

"Oh," Ludwig uttered, dumbly. "Sorry. Are my grades bad?"

"Not at all."

Awkward, but not exactly uncomfortable, and Braginsky finally said, "Well. Go on, then. I just wanted you to know I'm here."

"Thank you, Mr. Braginsky."

Ludwig meant to leave, and was stopped again with a low, "Call me Ivan."

A shudder of excitement, and Ludwig looked over his shoulder and nodded his head.

Well! It may have been very inappropriate, but perhaps he wasn't the only one thinking it, after all. Perhaps there was just a little more to this than Ludwig had anticipated, and the next day he kept his eyes on Ivan at all times, very frequently catching Ivan's gaze and holding it.

They taught and learned while essentially ogling each other, and they carried on that way for two months.

Ludwig loved watching Ivan writing at his desk. Ivan's handwriting was pretty, elegant, but more than that Ludwig just loved the pen he used. One of those old pens that required the tip to be dipped in ink. There was nothing more fascinating somehow to Ludwig to watch Ivan dip his pen and then scratch away. Ludwig had always found that rather endearing.

One day, Ludwig lingered after class, emboldened by Ivan's very heavy eyes always atop him.

Ivan looked up, saw him there, and sat up straight, maybe just as excited as Ludwig was.

"Something on your mind, Ludwig? A question about today's lesson?"

"No," Ludwig replied, as he stepped forward, coming closer and closer to Ivan's desk.

Ivan tapped his fingers on his desk, and asked, "Then what?"

"I was just wondering where you're from," Ludwig supplied, and Ivan seemed surprised.

Ivan never offered any information at all about himself, which was probably professional, but all of the other professors Ludwig had had always been very happy to introduce themselves on the first day and get to know their students on a basic level.

But not Ivan. Never said a word about himself.

A short silence, and then Ivan asked, "Why the curiosity?"

Ludwig knew then that his face was red, and his boldness fled. He took a step back, lowered his eyes, and muttered, "I was just...wondering. Sorry."

He meant to flee, but Ivan called, "Well! We can talk sometime. Maybe. If you want."

Talk?

Didn't know what that meant, but Ludwig said, anyway, "I'd like that."

He left quickly, before anything else could be said.

The next days were interesting, as Ivan and Ludwig ever eyed each other, and then Ivan held Ludwig once more after class to say, very lowly and very quickly, "I suppose I'll be out at the football field tonight. I like to sit there out there sometimes, when the weather is nice."

A rather large hint, and Ludwig took it.

He went out that night towards the football pitch, always looking over his shoulder, and when he was close, he saw Ivan sitting there alone on the stands, cigarette in hand. Ludwig crept up, sat a respectable distance away from him, and they talked. Just about class. Merely appropriate things. Nothing personal at all.

That came about the next time they met, late at night, this time in the garden, where it was very dark.

Ludwig liked it there better than the stands, because there was less light and the stars could be seen. Ivan asked Ludwig that night about his family, his life, and Ludwig responded happily, lonely as he was, being away from Roderich and Gilbert for the first time.

Told Ivan about his rough childhood, the death of his parents and being taken away from Gilbert because Gilbert hadn't been quite old enough to legally become his guardian. Roderich adopting him, and how Roderich and Gilbert always clashed and butted heads when Gilbert had turned eighteen and tried to take Ludwig away.

How Ludwig always felt torn between them and alone.

Ivan was quiet, and listened but didn't offer anything.

They sat out in the garden every night after that, making small talk, and absolutely nothing at all remotely inappropriate happened.

Ludwig wouldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed, because he was.

Then, a few weeks later, something wonderful happened; Ivan opened up to him.

It had taken a very long time, but at last Ludwig got a little bit of information out of Ivan, had apparently earned a bit of trust, because one night Ivan looked over at him, lit up in the moonlight, and said, "I'm from Russia. I was born in Leningrad. I defected twelve years ago. I came here to teach."

Ludwig stared at Ivan in awe, twisted at the waist to give Ivan his full attention, and leaned forward a bit.

They were close enough for Ludwig to catch the scent of Ivan's deep, subtle cologne. The very faint hint of cigarette smoke. The pleasant aroma of Ivan's clothes.

Ivan stared back at him, eyes running over Ludwig's face, and although Ludwig was desperately curious, he had enough tact in that moment not to pry further. Ivan had shown him trust, and he didn't want to risk losing it by being nosy. If Ivan wanted to offer more, then he would, in his own time.

So instead, Ludwig turned his eyes back out to the stars above the trees, and asked, out of nowhere, "What did you want to be when you were a child?"

Entirely random.

Ivan snorted, seemed caught off guard, and followed Ludwig's gaze up to the stars.

"A cosmonaut. Always, always, I dreamed of being a cosmonaut."

Daring to push a little, just a little, Ludwig asked, "So what stopped you?"

Ivan eyed the stars, thoughtfully, and finally said, "I don't know. My father was a chemist, so I suppose it was just easier for me, because I already knew so much about that. I didn't try hard enough."

Ludwig asked no more questions, and they just sat there for the rest of the night, watching stars.

The next day, Ludwig lingered again after class, as Ivan glanced up at him from above papers, and Ludwig felt bold enough to ask, "Perhaps tonight, we could have a beer."

Ivan lifted a brow, pen tapping the table, and then Ivan lowered his eyes back to the papers and said, so casually, "I suppose it's a plan. Let's meet where we always do, then."

Ludwig was elated, and spent the rest of the day in a daze.

That night, when they met, Ivan started walking, but not into the city. Instead, he looked over at Ludwig, and said, "Is it alright if we have a beer at my house? I think it would be improper for us to be seen together in a bar."

A rush of adrenaline, heat, excitement and fear, and Ludwig chirped, "That's fine!"

More than fine. Ideal, come to think, and he very happily accompanied Ivan to his home, catching the bus and memorizing the path. Ivan lived a good distance out of the center, on a very quiet street with few houses. They walked a bit more, and Ivan led Ludwig to a little house, tucked far back from the road and into the trees. It could scarcely be seen at all from the street, hidden away and isolated, but that seemed to suit private Ivan.

Ivan led him inside, they sat at the kitchen table over beer, and when they were a little tipsy, Ivan suddenly said, "You know. Your marks are perfect. You don't need to flirt with me to raise them."

Ha! As if.

When Ivan drank, his already heavy accent grew thicker, and Ludwig liked the sound of it.

Ludwig rested his chin in his palm, and found the courage to admit, however foolish it may have been, "I don't care about my grade. I just like you."

Ivan's stare was piercing, intense, impossible to escape, and Ludwig could only wait.

But Ivan played it cool that time, and merely offered Ludwig one more beer and then sent him on his way afterwards. Ludwig left with disappointment and yet hope. Seemed he was making more and more headway, and was sure he was getting close to something he wanted.

He must have been, because the very next night there he was again in Ivan's home.

By now, the line had very much been crossed, things had become extremely inappropriate regardless of whether or not anything was happening, and they were both very aware of that.

At the end of the week, Ivan stood up from the table, gave a very heavy sigh, came forward, yanked Ludwig to his feet, and kissed him.

Seemed waiting had gotten old for the both of them, and Ludwig had been very happy to throw his arms around Ivan's neck as Ivan quite literally picked him up and carted him off into the bedroom.

And that was that.

From that day, they began a very improper relationship, and neither of them really cared about the repercussions. Ludwig loved the scent of Ivan, the feel of his hands and how warm he was, and more than that he loved not feeling so lonely all the time. Ivan must have felt that, too, because he was always extremely affectionate, always seeking attention from Ludwig in private and always willing to give it in turn.

The rest of that year in university passed with no incident, as they kept their relationship very secret. That summer, Ludwig didn't go back to Vienna with Roderich or to Berlin with Gilbert. He stayed in Zurich, in Ivan's house, and told them he was just staying with a friend and would come visit.

One night, in the middle of summer, Ludwig asked out of nowhere, as Ivan lied tangled up in him, "Why did you defect?"

Ivan lifted his head, stared down at him, brow low and lips pursed, and for a while there, in that silence, Ludwig thought that Ivan wasn't going to answer. But eventually he did, and murmured, "We were set to work by the KGB. They wanted new breakthroughs in chemical weapons. Nuclear weapons. I didn't want to do that. That wasn't what I ever wanted to do. So I ran."

Ludwig held Ivan's gaze, and then kissed his forehead.

Every day, Ivan trusted him a little more it seemed. Ludwig considered them very close by then, lovers as they were but also best friends.

The next year, Ludwig discovered something new about Ivan.

One of the students that year spoke Russian, and tried on several occasions to stay a bit after class to speak to Ivan in his mother tongue about something he just hadn't perfectly understood, and always Ivan would call, "Ludwig!"

Ludwig would turn, and Ivan would say, "Stay just a moment, won't you?"

Ludwig did, always sitting and waiting dutifully as Ivan spoke to the student in Russian and helped him with whatever he needed. But when the student left, Ivan just said to Ludwig, "You can go."

It didn't take Ludwig long to realize that Ivan didn't want to be alone, for any amount of time, with another Russian. Strove to avoid it at all costs, and actually seemed extremely nervous about it, scared almost, and Ludwig knew that it was likely having to do with Ivan's defection. Must have been paranoid still about it. Well. He had right to be nervous, perhaps, having run from something like the KGB. So Ludwig just stayed when Ivan asked him to, and never let him have a conversation with anyone else alone.

Ivan seemed to jump at shadows.

Still, Ludwig spent every night at Ivan's house, forgoing campus, and by then they had long since become a couple. No one knew, no one suspected, because they were both extremely professional and stoic and Ivan lived in a rather isolated area. No prying eyes.

Ludwig was entirely enamored with Ivan, would have followed him anywhere, and was already planning on spending the rest of his life with this man. Easier to cling to that dream, when Ivan held him to his chest every night and kissed his forehead and whispered to him about the future.

He had been meant for this man, he was sure of it.

Time passed in a love-struck daze, and Ludwig was _so_ in love with Ivan that he was blinded to all else. Ivan would show up frequently with flowers, would sometimes wake him up in the middle of the night and drag him out into the yard just to look at stars. Ludwig leaned his head against Ivan's shoulder, put every bit of himself into Ivan's hands, and trusted unconditionally, as was his nature.

As usual, it eventually caused him trouble.

It was their fourth year together when Ivan finally explained to Ludwig why he was so paranoid about being alone with another Russian. In some way, very soon, Ludwig really wished he hadn't been informed at all.

He was just lying there in bed, head rested on Ivan's chest as Ivan stared up at the ceiling, and then Ivan said, out of nowhere, "I lied to you."

Ludwig looked up at Ivan, and dumbly uttered, "What do you mean?"

Ivan turned his head, met Ludwig's eyes, and repeated, "I lied to you. About why I left. I didn't defect because I was afraid they would use my research for war. That's what I did all along. I worked for the KGB. Every bit of research I ever did was for them. That was the intent all along, to make chemical warfare. I lied to you. I defected because...I got scared. I was talking to a man I thought was a friend one night, and I insulted Khrushchev, and the Party. The next day, I was thrown into a cell and beaten. They held me for a week, sent me back to work, and told me that when I could no longer produce useful research that I would be shot. So I defected, because I didn't want to die. I'm sorry. I lied to you. I didn't want you to know that I'm not a good person. I knew what I was doing all along. And so now, I change my name and country every so often, because I'm scared to stay in one place. They'll always be after me, because I know so much. That's why I don't hold any meetings alone. I know one day I'll be assassinated. No one defects from the KGB and ever just gets away. I'm sorry."

No words for that awful dread Ludwig felt. So many things running through his head, so many thoughts. Fear. Terror. Anxiety. That awful unease that came with realizing that the person you were in love with wasn't who you thought they were.

Ivan looked once more above, silently.

It was quite a lot to take in.

Ivan was so quiet, still and pensive, and Ludwig knew that he was preparing himself for a breakup.

It wasn't coming; Ludwig loved Ivan far too much to just let him go, even knowing the truth. Even if it could have been dangerous. Knowing the consequences wasn't enough to deter him, and after a long while, Ludwig murmured, "I don't care about what you did. I care about who you are now. And I... I love you, whoever you are."

Ivan may not have been Ivan's real name, but that didn't matter. It was who Ludwig knew, and Ludwig loved this man, regardless of his past or who he had once been. People could change. Not always of their own volition, granted, but nobody was perfect. Ivan was only a man, and Ludwig didn't hold his flaws against him.

Ivan had told him the truth, and that meant enough.

Ivan seemed surprised, turning his head to stare at Ludwig very pryingly against the moonlight, and Ludwig could only stare back at him and let Ivan know that he wasn't going anywhere.

They didn't speak anymore, Ivan clenching him up and holding him.

Ludwig had assumed that was the end of it. He wasn't exactly elated at the news, certainly wasn't looking forward to any danger or inconveniences, wasn't looking forward to the day Ivan once more uprooted and changed his name, but he was prepared for it.

He was willing to live that life, if it was with Ivan.

Five years, and Ludwig graduated.

Ivan was beaming, proud and very bolstered, and Roderich and Gilbert had come all the way from Vienna and Berlin to stay with him all day and drink with him that night in a hotel. The next few days were wonderful, being with people he loved, but Ludwig was more excited when he was able to return to Ivan's.

It felt as if the next step of his life had begun. He was ready now to truly settle down. He wasn't a student anymore, and so there was no longer any need for secrecy. He didn't have to be careful and slink in the shadows. He was envisioning a wonderful life, something from a movie, just him and Ivan and a nice house and a calm life.

He forgot sometimes about the real world, and Ivan's past.

Clearly Ivan hadn't forgotten.

When Gilbert and Roderich left and Ludwig went to Ivan's door, something in the air had shifted. It had only been three days, and yet Ivan looked somehow horrible when he opened the door and let Ludwig in. Unshaven and messy haired. His clothes were wrinkled. The circles under his eyes very dark. It looked almost as if he had been crying, and rather furiously so. His eyes were red, bleary, swollen.

Ludwig had been confused and alarmed. Thinking Ivan was sick, he reached out and rested his hands on the sides of Ivan's neck, thumbs under his jaw, and asked, "What's the matter?"

Ivan squinted his eyes and hung his head a little, and Ludwig had felt the dread squirming.

Anxiety.

It took a long while before Ivan could look up at him, and longer yet for him to open his mouth and utter, "You have such a nice life ahead of you. Everything you worked all this time for, you can have. You don't need me anymore."

An awful rush of hurt.

Oh, no, not that. Not now. Ludwig had already been planning their future together, saw it in his dreams every night—

Ivan took his face in his huge hands, ran thumbs over his cheeks, kissed his forehead, and then said the words that everyone dreaded hearing.

"I'm sorry. But we can't be together anymore. I've thought about it, every day, and...I can't let anything happen to you. It's too dangerous for you to stay with me. We can't be together."

Shock.

Ludwig was too stunned to move, to think, to react.

Five years they had been together. Ludwig knew nothing else, had thought of nothing else all these years. Had given all of himself to Ivan, and had never once thought of letting go. How those awful words cut, to have Ivan suddenly casting him aside.

What had happened to change Ivan's mind?

Maybe Ivan had finally accepted the reality around him as Ludwig sought yet to ever deny it.

Ludwig lowered his voice and began, desperately, "Please, don't, I—"

Ivan kissed him to cut him off, held him there for a long while, and when he pulled back, he pressed his lips into Ludwig's forehead and whispered, "I've never done anything good in my life. Nothing I'm proud of. I would keep you, I would have had you with me, always, but I— That's not the right thing to do. It would be selfish of me, to put my happiness above your safety. It can't be. It was a dream we had. I can't pretend anymore that it can really come true. You can't stay with me. Eventually, you'll get hurt. I'm sorry. But I have to say goodbye to you."

Ludwig was too devastated to really comprehend, and Ivan walked him to the door as his vision blurred with the tears that began pooling in his eyes. Couldn't even cry, though, he was so dumbfounded. Ivan led him outside, kissed his forehead one more time, and then said, with finality, "Goodbye."

Ludwig realized suddenly that there was a suitcase on the porch; all of his belongings. Ivan really was letting him go.

Hurt.

Ivan turned around, shut the door behind him, and was gone.

Gone.

That was the last time he ever saw Ivan.

For a long, awful while, it felt as if the world had ended. Ludwig mourned, even as his life unfolded before him exactly as he had planned it all along. A year later, when he was twenty-six, he procured his first job at a chemical plant in Basel. He was making his life fit into the dream he had had for himself, and yet his other dream flashed before his mind every night.

Dreamt endlessly of Ivan, and thought every day of writing to him, but was too cowardly.

Later that year, he first met Felicia.

It had not been a good first meeting.

He had been minding his business, going down the street on his day off with a bag of groceries in his hand, and a woman had suddenly run in front of him from across the street, directly into his path. He crashed into her, naturally, and stumbled back. She was a young woman, a bit older than Ludwig perhaps, very pretty and very well dressed. Her hair was neatly curled, her makeup was pleasant and not too much, hair auburn in the sun and eyes lit up rather amber in the light. A normal woman.

But damn! She had turned on him like a bull, shoving his chest and screeching, "Watch where you're going!"

Ludwig was absolutely stunned when she slapped him right there in front of everyone, flabbergasted and so confused, and he stood completely still as she unleashed an unholy tirade upon him. She screamed at him until her voice was hoarse, about how stupid he was, how rude, how inconsiderate, pay more attention, knocking over a woman, etc.

Ludwig had bowed to her fury, as he did to everyone's, and stood dutifully still until she had finished. He didn't open his mouth, didn't lift his hand even though his cheek stung, and everyone on the street gawked at them, most of them sending Ludwig looks of sympathy.

When the woman finished screaming, she very abruptly burst into tears, as randomly as she had lashed out. Ludwig considered the ordeal done and over with, and sidestepped her to carry on.

From behind, she called out to him, "I'm sorry!"

He looked over his shoulder, as she wiped the mascara from her cheeks.

"I'm _sorry_ ," she said again, as she took a step towards him, still crying, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean— My fiancé just left me. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

A twinge of pity.

He felt bad for her, and he didn't have anything else to do, so he turned back around to face her, and said, "Would you like to get a coffee and talk about it?"

He had been left, too, and knew that awful feeling.

She nodded, and the next thing Ludwig knew they were in a café, as Felicia spilled her soul out to him through tears. Ludwig listened as dutifully to her then as he had when she had screamed at him, and when she finished speaking, she leaned across the table, grabbed his hand, and said, "Thank you so much. I needed that. I don't have anyone else here to talk to. You're the nicest man I've ever met, you really are. I'm sorry again. I feel horrible."

He played it off, and said, "It's fine, really. If you need to talk again, I'll be around."

Anyone would have been upset, really.

She hesitated, seemed embarrassed, and yet still she had asked, "Can I have your phone number?"

He had given it to her, and yet it had been a little surreal the first time she had called him and asked him out again for another coffee.

Ludwig had thought right off that she was beautiful, one of the prettiest women he had ever seen, but as he got to know her more over the coming weeks, he found more things about her that he liked, and it was those other things about her that had him falling in love with her. It was very clear from the first few conversations that she had been interested in him, and it didn't take long before he felt the same.

A month after she had slapped him, he walked her home, and she leaned up to kiss him.

It all went on from there. Ludwig's mind was always on Ivan, but Felicia helped to take that edge off. Took away the loneliness. Helped to ease his anxiety and his mourning.

He loved her, and they were always together after that. She had done as much for him as he had for her, even if she didn't know it. He had nursed her through her breakup, but in a way she had nursed him through his, obliviously.

She worked at an art museum, painted too in her spare time, and Ludwig found her abstract style fascinating. She dealt in art on the side, and every so often she would buy something and show it off to Ludwig. An odd combination perhaps, a chemical engineer and a painter, but they seemed to fit very well. Her exuberance and vivaciousness complimented rather well his stoicism and silence.

He couldn't have Ivan, but he could have Felicia, and clung to her just as tightly.

When he was twenty-eight, he and Felicia bought a home together, moved in, became a real couple in a sense, and Ludwig was elated. It was so wonderful to be with someone who loved him, who had no cause to leave him, and yet despite how much Ludwig loved her he still thought always of Ivan. Wondering how Ivan was doing, if he was alright. If he was happy.

When he was twenty-nine, Ludwig bought a ring and fell in terror to one knee and proposed to Felicia, and nearly cried when she had tackled him and knocked him backwards onto the ground. He loved her, was happy she was there, but that night regardless he still dreamt of Ivan.

When he was thirty, they were wed, and it was Gilbert who was crying, pitifully so, as Roderich looked on so proudly. Admittedly, Ludwig did cry a little, too, because Felicia was crying. Hard not to be an emotional wreck on one's wedding day, but Ludwig's stint of being an emotional wreck carried on all throughout the day and for the entire night. As Felicia rested her head against his shoulder, Ludwig stared up at the ceiling, and wished, more than anything, that he could have looked over the crowd that day to see Ivan's face.

When he was thirty-one, they found out that Felicia couldn't have children, and she had clung to Ludwig's arm and cried for days, and it was almost as if she were afraid to let go of him. Oh, how his chest hurt when she had looked up from her wailing to utter, breathlessly, "Please don't leave me."

Never. Would have never, because he loved her.

They carried on, as they had for years, and Ludwig didn't regret anything that had happened. He loved her, and she loved him, and that was all that mattered. He was happy with her. Everything was fine, carrying on. His job was steady, constant, and Felicia was positively glowing. She came home sometimes with new paintings, which she always hung in attractive places. Sometimes at night, Ludwig would stare at the abstract paintings, and if he stared long enough he sometimes saw a bit of Ivan in some of then.

It never went away, those feelings he had. He would love that man until the day he died, even if he loved Felicia, too.

When he was thirty-two, he received a letter. He opened the post one day, and there it was, a little envelope. Unassuming. His heart raced when he saw the writing, and recognized it long before he saw the name scribbled at the top.

Ivan.

He looked around, almost guiltily, and slunk inside, running into the bedroom. Felicia wasn't even home yet, but somehow Ludwig felt as if he were doing something wrong when he sat down on the bed and opened the envelope to pull out the letter.

His hands were shaking when he began to read it.

Oh, that beautiful writing. Long missed. The ink was thick, silvery, perfectly fitting Ivan. Could perfectly recall the sight of Ivan dipping his pen into his ink.

_Dear Ludwig,_

_How are you? I don't know if you'll receive this, or if this is even the correct address. I searched for you, as best I could, and this address was where I was led. I hear you've married now. I'm happy for you, that you can have something safe and comfortable that I was unable to give you. I hope you're doing well. Please know that I think of you every day that passes. I know I made the right decision, for your wellbeing, but god, how I wish I had made a different one. It's too late now to regret, isn't it? I can only remember our time and be happy for it, for that brief moment. I'm grateful to you, more than you can know. How glad I am that we met. You brought me more happiness than you could ever understand. I wish things could have worked out differently, but I feel relieved that your life seems to be going along quite perfectly. I'll understand if you've pushed me far out of your mind, or if you've by now forgotten me. I mean no intrusion, nor annoyance; I just wanted to tell you that I miss you, that I care deeply for you still, and I always will. You don't need to respond to this if you don't wish to. I almost don't expect you to, when you have a wonderful life. I'm merely a memory to you by now. All the same, I do hope, if nothing else, that you'll hold me no ill will. I hope you can forgive me, and perhaps remember me fondly, although I did nothing to deserve it._

_I'm happy for you, and I hope that you'll have nothing but fortune in whatever path lies yet ahead of you. I've never forgotten you, and I couldn't wait one more day to tell you that. I suppose I needed to get it off my chest. So I shall say both 'hello' and 'farewell'. I'll leave you to your happy life, and spend the rest of mine thinking of you.I don't ask you to pity me, for it's nothing I haven't earned. You're better off without me, I know.  
_

_Good luck, Ludwig, in everything. Always know how happy you made me. You're the only thing that ever did. For that, I love you, and always will. I just wanted you to know that I've never forgotten you. Please, have a happy life. My regards, love._

Underneath, a postscript, scribbled in a slightly more harried fashion, more sloppily, as if a very quick afterthought before it had been mailed.

_P. S. - I have borrowed a bit of phosphorous from the laboratory and mixed it into the ink. My hope is that it may glow just a bit at night, that you can read this letter even as you lie down to sleep. That we may both, for just a while at night, pretend we're cosmonauts amongst the stars. This is the only way we can be together now._

Ludwig smiled and snorted, and clenched the letter very happily to his chest.

Oh! How wonderful that was to read, to feel those sentiments so potently even after seven years, as he had the very first day. He had never fallen out of love with Ivan, and it was marvelous to hear that Ivan held those same feelings.

He sat down immediately and started writing his own letter, always looking over his shoulder for Felicia. And he didn't know why he wrote it, because he knew in his heart that it was a dead-end and that he was happy now, had everything he wanted. He loved Felicia, but he loved Ivan, too, and so he wrote.

Wrote everything he dared, about how much he had missed Ivan, how much he loved him still, how he thought about him every single day, how some part of Ludwig always had and always would belong to Ivan. He wrote whatever nonsense came to mind, included his phone number, pulse racing and feeling dizzy, and then he sealed it up in an envelope.

Then he lost his courage.

He twisted the envelope restlessly in his hands, faltered, felt self-conscious and nervous, guilty, and in the end he didn't mail it. He buried it in his dresser alongside Ivan's letter, and tried every morning to find the will to mail it.

In the meanwhile, after Felicia fell asleep, Ludwig took the letter out in the dark of night. As promised, the ink glowed, just a bit. Nothing powerful, but certainly enough to read the letter even in the dark. A faint, comforting purple light, soft and so befitting Ivan.

Ludwig felt as enamored as he had back then. That rush of love and adoration crashing over him from out of nowhere.

He read the letter every night, blissfully enraptured with Ivan but also painfully aware of Felicia sleeping in the bed.

He loved them both, and for that felt horrendous. There would be no perfect outcome for him, and he knew it. If he stayed with Felicia, he would always miss Ivan. If he left and ran into Ivan's waiting arms, he would forever and always mourn Felicia. Not fair, but it was a mess he had gotten himself into and there was no one to talk to about it.

He didn't know what to do, but knew he was in love.

It took him three months to gather up the courage to finally mail out his letter.

Every day after that was just waiting. Every day, Ludwig watched the phone, relentlessly, hoping against hope that Ivan would call him.

Finally, two weeks later, the phone rang, during dinner. Ludwig jolted up and raced to it, heart hammering and feeling oddly excited. Felicia had just snorted, thinking nothing of it, and Ludwig's voice shook when he answered, "Hello?"

A voice over the line.

"Is this Ludwig?"

Not Ivan's voice, and Ludwig's excitement died. Disappointment rushed up. He had gotten ahead of himself again, and merely uttered, far less enthusiastically, "Yes. Who is this?"

No direct answer, as the voice instead asked, "Did you write a letter to Ivan Braginsky?"

Unease. A twinge of dread, twisting in his stomach. Ivan's old worries and fears, passed on to Ludwig. The horrifying thought that this person was a potential danger, that maybe Ivan's past had caught up and now Ludwig was in trouble.

Still, he answered, quietly, "Yes."

A hesitation over the line.

"I regret to inform you that Mr. Braginsky has passed on. I'm sorry."

Stunned and confused, Ludwig clenched the phone and sputtered, "I-I'm sorry? What?"

Made no sense. Had to have misheard.

The voice said, "He died three months ago. I'm sorry you have to find out this way"

In denial and bewildered, Ludwig asked, "But—how?"

"I'm afraid he killed himself. If you—"

Ludwig heard nothing more, breathing heavily and head spinning, and he hung the phone up and sat down on the sofa, staring ahead at the wall.

Lost.

An awful surge of hurt, and anger. Incomprehension. Why would Ivan have done that? How could he have ever let himself go that far? Why hadn't he reached out to Ludwig sooner? Why had he waited until it was too late?

Oh—every single word of that letter suddenly took on a different meaning. Ivan hadn't been attempting to rekindle their old relationship; he had been saying goodbye, in his own way.

Everything had piled up, had become too much, Ivan had gotten so sick of looking over his shoulder and fearing everyone, afraid of every single noise and motion, terrified to even open his front door. The stress and pressure had gotten to him, and instead of asking Ludwig for help he had just written a letter to let him go.

He hung his head, elbows on his knees, and burst into tears.

Felicia was upon him very soon, kneeling on the floor before him and forcing his head up, her thumbs running over his cheeks as she asked, "What's happened? What's wrong? Oh, Ludwig, what's the matter? Who was on the phone?"

She was scared, panicked, no doubt thinking that something had happened to Gilbert or Roderich.

He couldn't speak for a moment, crying too hard to form words, but she was very patient with him. What could he really say? He couldn't truly be honest.

When he found his voice, all he uttered was, "A friend of mine from university died."

Not a lie, but not the truth.

Her face softened, she sat down beside of him, and held him there as he cried all night.

Oh Ivan. How could he have done that? How could he have just gone on and left Ludwig behind? To reach out again like that, only to say farewell. It wasn't right.

He mourned for months, endlessly, crying when he was alone and trying so hard not to let Felicia see how much pain he was in. It felt as if he couldn't breathe, and he held Ivan's letter to his chest every night, after Felicia had gone to sleep. Reading it in the dark, as the purple glow of the phosphorous comforted him in some small way. Tried to pretend that Ivan was still out there somehow, that perhaps he had finally become a cosmonaut after all. That was all; Ivan was just playing out amongst the stars, as he had always dreamed.

Every night, Ludwig read the letter, caught the scent of Ivan there, and pretended. He never told Felicia, because he didn't want to hurt her, and he didn't want something to go wrong and for her to ever think less of him.

For her to ever leave him was terrifying, so he mourned alone and in shadows.

He tried his best to remember Ivan as he had been, and not how awful and depressed and scared he must have been there towards the end. A life that had gone awry.

Tried to remember Ivan's pretty smile.

Years passed, and Ludwig began to cope a bit better with things. He stopped pretending that Ivan was drifting about up in the atmosphere. Ivan was dead, and he was trying his best to come to terms with that. It was a little easier every day, but he still cried from time to time, when he was alone for too long.

His favorite moment of his day, though, was still his nightly reading of that letter. He supposed it was his version of therapy. His comfort. His way of clinging.

Every single night without fail, Ludwig held that letter close, as he carried on in his life.

Ivan was gone, but never entirely forgotten.

When Ludwig was thirty-seven, he caught the flu for the first time in his life in November. It was an awful, painful experience, far worse than he had imagined it would be, and he spent two weeks huddled up on the couch, trashcan beneath him and constantly writhing. Felicia coddled him, doted upon him, pampered him, but that didn't make the agony go away.

Felicia did kiss his forehead, fearless of catching it herself, and murmured, "My poor baby! There's nothing more pitiful than a sick man."

He tried to smile, and failed.

Felt like he was dying, and Felicia teased him relentlessly about 'man-flu' the entire two weeks. After that, it began to clear up, and on the third week Ludwig returned to work.

But in February, he caught it again.

How bizarre! He had been perfectly healthy his entire life, and now he had caught the flu twice in four months. Something seemed highly unfair about that.

The second time was worse, and it was harder to recuperate from. Felicia coddled him as fervently, but didn't tease him that time, often appearing rather concerned as he shivered with fever.

As soon as he recovered from that, Ludwig got a flu shot, and swore he would do so every winter. Couldn't risk getting it over and over again and missing so much work. Still, though, every year after that, he caught colds and bugs very frequently. Without fail. It got so bad, in fact, that Felicia forbade anyone coming over if they had a cold. When Gilbert showed up, Felicia actually took his temperature before she let him inside. Roderich had to pass similar exams.

Ludwig couldn't figure it out. His immune system had never been so weak. He didn't understand why he was suddenly sick all of the time, what was wrong with him.

Ludwig noticed shortly after that his brush was coming back with more and more hair in it. Hm. It wasn't terribly noticeable, for how pale his hair was, but it was certainly thinner than it ever had been. How unfair; Gilbert was much older than him and still had loads of hair, like a teenager.

When he was thirty-nine, Ludwig woke up one morning in spring and felt someway as if he had been run over by a train. Felt so sore, weak, lethargic. Didn't want to get out of bed, he was so tired, but forced himself. He took his temperature; it was normal. So he went to work, despite the awful ache all over, and tried to push through.

Felicia noticed when he came home and threw himself straight into bed. By now, she was used to him being sick, and she was quick to grab his shoulders and give him a bit of a massage. He was out like a light, but the next morning he didn't feel any better. As if he had been utterly drained of all energy.

God, what was _wrong_ with him?

Felicia ran her hand over his back, soothingly, as he tried to pull himself out of bed that next morning.

"You look terrible," she said, worriedly, as he once more took his temperature and it was once more normal. "I'm getting worried about you. I think you should go to the doctor."

She had a point.

But he was so damn tired, and he said, "I'll go soon."

Soon wasn't really all that soon.

Summer came, and Ludwig was still sloughing his way through that awful lethargy. Had no life at all, none, had never felt so weak and tired in his living memory. His muscles ached all the time, without him having done anything. He went to work, came home, and went to sleep. Just too tired to even bother going to the doctor, and maybe he was actually scared to find out what was wrong with him.

Stubborn.

Felicia was worried. He had lost a bit of weight, for his endless sleeping, and he knew he looked a mess, pale as snow and the circles under his eyes far too dark. His coworkers worried about him, too, and when Roderich and Gilbert came by to visit in July at the same time, the first thing Gilbert said was, "Holy shit, Lutz! What's the matter with you? You look awful."

Roderich, ever the concerned father, swept forward and pressed his hand into Ludwig's forehead.

Ludwig brushed them off, and tried to pretend to be more energetic than he felt while they were there, but he knew he wasn't fooling them.

Months he suffered that lethargy without fulfilling his vow to go to the doctor, and then, in October, two weeks after his fortieth birthday, everything just crashed.

He walked through the kitchen in the morning to get his coffee, and the next thing he really knew he was on the floor and Felicia was above him, sobbing and crying out.

Awful, vulnerable minutes, as his mind and body just couldn't sync up and give him a clear picture of what was happening. Ludwig could only drift about, in and out of clarity, and then suddenly more people were standing above him, and he was being carried. He remembered being in the ambulance, Felicia beside of him, and he remembered arriving in the hospital.

He couldn't say how long he had been there, though, before he was finally lucid and once more aware of his surroundings. Came to and looked around, at the IV in his arm and at exhausted, red-eyed Felicia staring over at him.

She was clenching his hand, and he somehow managed to ask, "What happened?'

That awful look on her face.

"I don't know. You had a seizure. Oh, god, I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. I just want to know what's wrong with you."

A seizure? He heard it clearly, but didn't much comprehend. He didn't understand anything happening to him lately. He didn't understand how he could be so healthy his entire life and then suddenly tank so furiously in just a few years when none of his habits had changed.

All they could do was wait.

Miserable hours.

A knock on the door, and a doctor came in, papers in hand and smiling thinly.

"Hey, Ludwig. How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," Ludwig supplied, honestly, and the doctor gave a humorless snort.

And then everything was quiet, and for a long time.

Ludwig felt his stomach sinking and Felicia was squirming.

The doctor finally spoke up, as Felicia clenched his hand, and asked, "I see that you work in a chemical plant. Do you come into contact frequently with radioactive elements?"

A lurch of unease.

"Of course," Ludwig replied. "It's fundamental."

"Is it possible there's been some sort of, well—forgive me, this isn't exactly my specialty—some sort of spill or breach or some such, that would cause you to be exposed to such radiation?"

His stomach was twisting, lurching, and Felicia's grip on his hand was so tight that it was painful.

"No. We're very methodical. Such an accident could scarcely occur. And it certainly never has, not to my knowledge, in the history of the plant."

The doctor stared at him for a long while, pursed his lips, hesitated, and then said, in a softer voice, "Well, regardless. Your immune system is gone. Everything keeps leading us back to radiation poisoning."

Ludwig felt remarkably cold then, despite Felicia's warmth. The air seemed to be sucked out of the room, for he couldn't breathe suddenly. A cold sweat on his brow.

Couldn't comprehend how this could have possibly happened.

In denial, perhaps, Ludwig stubbornly said, "It can't be. If that were the case, more people in the plant would be sick."

"It would seem that way," the doctor agreed, "and that's why we've informed the appropriate authorities. They should be at the plant now, as we speak. They'll come by afterwards, to speak to you. In the meanwhile, we have many things we need to deal with. You have aplastic anemia. And your liver is barely functioning. The prognosis is...less than favorable, I fear."

A sharp inhale from Felicia.

Ludwig just felt rather numb then, confused and bewildered. Made no sense.

But he understood far too well what was being laid before him, the exact consequences, and he turned back to the doctor, to say, "I'm not leaving this hospital again, am I?"

The doctor shook his head.

Felicia burst into tears, leapt upright to her feet, and whined, in her own good bit of denial, "What are you talking about? You're just sick; they'll fix you. You'll be alright."

She didn't understand that it didn't work like that when it came to some things. Sometimes, optimism wasn't enough.

Ludwig tried to speak, to say something, but Felicia had already turned her wrath on the doctor, marching up to him and demanding more than asking, "You're going to make him better. Right? That's your job!"

The doctor, poor man, held her gaze and tried to be firm and gentle, and began, "We'll do what we can to make him as comfortable as possible—"

Felicia's awful bawling intensified, and Ludwig sat upright when Felicia shoved the doctor's chest.

"That's not right! You have to _do_ something! This isn't right! You can't let him die, what's the matter with you? You have to _help_ him! That's what you're here for!"

She was sobbing so hard she could barely speak, and shoved the doctor one more time before whirling around and snatching Ludwig in a painful embrace, burying her face in his hair.

Ludwig squirmed in her arms, met the doctor's eyes as he shuffled, and asked, "How long?"

Felicia burrowed all the harder into him, as if that would somehow prevent her from hearing the doctor's answer.

"A month, maybe. At most."

Goddamn, hadn't expected it would be that soon.

A crumble of his bravery, but shock held him together then.

"And if... If I go home?"

He didn't wanna fuckin' die in this hospital, hooked up to machines that kept him alive. Wanted to be home, with people he loved and familiar environments.

The doctor shook his head, and offered, "Maybe...two weeks? Optimistically. But it doesn't matter. You can't leave. Until we find the source of the radiation, you can't go home. Her, either. After they're done at the plant, the men will come see you, and then I imagine they'll go to your home."

Ludwig turned his eyes back down to the blanket, and fell silent.

Rather trapped, then. No choice in the matter. But they were right, he supposed. Couldn't risk it, but he didn't understand why he was the only one sick if it had been an accident at the plant. He did nothing different than anyone else. Had no special jobs or tasks.

Just didn't understand how this could have happened.

The doctor wandered away as Felicia cried into Ludwig's hair, and several hours later, in the evening, when Felicia had cried herself senseless and sat in the chair in the corner with her face rested in her hands, there was a knock on the door.

Officers came inside, sat down, and said, quickly, "There's no radiation in the plant. We'll be going next to your house. Do you have any idea how you could have been exposed?"

Ludwig said, "No," and thus began the very lengthy and very annoying questioning. He was already in a bad mood by then, needless to say, and the scribbling on the notepad was driving him crazy, as his head pounded away. Their interrogation was grating his nerves more than the goddamn prognosis.

One month to live. Who could ever take that well?

Scribbling. That pen, moving away, as the man kept on, question after question. That annoying scribbling—

Scribbling.

 _Oh_ —!

Ludwig inhaled and sat upright so quickly that it made him dizzy, his mind raced as fast as his heart did, his pounding head blazed up, and somehow, someway, it all came together and clicked up in his head.

The man looked at him in alarm, as did Felicia, and they asked at the same time, "What?"

He stared ahead, eyes wide and breathing through his mouth, as the realization struck him so powerfully that for just a ridiculous moment he felt giddy.

"There's a letter," Ludwig began, and his voice gave out on him for a while. "I got a letter, years ago. From another chemist, and I— I thought it was phosphorous in the ink. But it's not. It's the letter. It's in my dresser. That has to be it."

Felicia looked quite alarmed when the officer stood up, looked at her, and said, "Come with us. We'll need to be let in."

She looked at Ludwig uncertainly, but he gave her a nod and a smile for bravery, and she kissed his forehead before going with them.

Ludwig could only lay back and feel like an absolute fool.

Phosphorous. How stupid.

Ivan. Had he really sent that letter? Ludwig wasn't so certain then. That little postscript that had looked so rushed; that wasn't Ivan's writing. Could see it now, in hindsight of course, and couldn't believe he had ever been so dumb. Should have known it somehow. Should have been more suspicious, when he knew who Ivan was and who he was hiding from.

Should have questioned that, as much as he should have questioned whether or not Ivan had really killed himself.

Could see it all so clearly—Ivan hadn't killed himself, Ivan hadn't written that final line, and Ivan hadn't mailed that letter. Should have seen it sooner, should have known, should have realized and should have been smarter.

Hours later, Felicia came back, and Ludwig stirred from his lethargy.

Felicia leaned over him, running her hand down his cheek and neck, and he couldn't stand her sad smile.

"Did they find it?" he asked, after a silence.

She nodded.

"Yeah. It... They got close to the dresser, and the meter just went off." Her face crumpled, her eyes misted, and her voice was strangled when she added, "I _hate_ that sound."

Felt so stupid then, so awful and guilty, and was very quick to demand, "You need to be checked out, as well."

Again, she nodded.

"I know. They already told me. I'm about to go. I just came to see you first."

She was crying then, and god, he couldn't stand the sight of it.

He reached out, grabbed her hand, and beseeched, deeply, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I never wanted anything to happen to you, I—"

She cut him off by pressing down and kissing him, her eyes squinted tightly to prevent her from crying any harder.

Guilt.

How had he ever been so stupid?

She left him then, her hand trailing down his face in farewell, and those were long hours, waiting to see if his foolishness had harmed her.

When she came back, very late at night, Ludwig tried to sit up, and realized he was too tired to do so, and that was rather terrifying. So, he asked, "What did they say? Are you well?"

She came over and crawled into the bed, and whispered, "I'm fine, they say. I'm fine." He closed his eyes in relief, as she gripped his hand, and it made his chest hurt when she added, thickly, "I wish I weren't."

"Don't say that," he chided, as she clung to him.

She was silent for a long while, and when Ludwig was sleepy, she asked, "What did the letter say? Who was it from? For you to keep it all these years. They told me that for you to have been exposed so much, you had to have been holding it every day. They say the only way for it to affect you like that was if you inhaled the...whatever they called it, rays or some such. So. Who was it from?"

A surge of guilt again, regret, and he was reluctant to tell her because he didn't want to hurt her.

His silence must have been quite telling to her, because she kissed his cheek, and murmured, "It was someone you were in love with, wasn't it? You can tell me. You could have always told me."

Well. He was dying, and there was no point now really in keeping anything from her. He didn't want her to spend the rest of her life wondering, thinking, trying to put together pieces on her own and coming up with wrong conclusions.

So he lowered his voice, and was honest with her. Told her everything. Told her all about Ivan, the first day meeting him, how in love he had been with Ivan, all those years with him, and then finding out that he wasn't who he had said he was, but still being so in love with him that he was willing to give up and risk everything. Told her about how much it had hurt, when Ivan had told him that they couldn't see each other anymore, because Ivan was so worried about him getting hurt. How life had ended in that moment, and hadn't started at all again until he had met Felicia.

It felt so strange, though, to attempt to explain to her that he loved her so much, but that at the same time he had never fallen out of love with Ivan. Loving two people at the same time. He felt so wrong and guilty saying it, but she just listened.

Listened to everything he said, and didn't interrupt.

When he finished speaking, she was thoughtfully still, and then she kissed his forehead and whispered, "Thank you for telling me."

With that, she huddled up, and they slept.

The next morning, there was another knock on the door. Ludwig sat up, hoping it was Gilbert and Roderich, but it wasn't.

It was a well-dressed man, clearly some officer, and he stepped inside and came forward as Ludwig sat up straighter. Felicia went to the chair, and sat down.

The man reached the bed and extended his hand.

"Ludwig, is it? Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances. I'm Agent Zwingli. You can call me Basch, if you want."

"Why not?" Ludwig drawled, very humorlessly. "I'll be dead in a few weeks. Better get cozy while we can."

Regretted it a bit, when Felicia squinted her eyes and turned her head.

Basch seemed amused enough, and sat down.

"Well," he began, hesitantly, "We're all caught up now, so I can let you in, a little. Naturally, most of this is still classified. But, hell. It was a synthetic radioactive element—"

"Curium," Ludwig offered, having figured it out by then. The purple glow. The silvery, thick ink. It was so obvious to him now that he couldn't see how he had missed it to begin with. "Isn't that it?"

The officer nodded.

"Yeah. In the ink. I don't need to explain anything of that to you. You're the chemist."

Felicia's face was buried in her hands.

Ludwig was silent and pensive for a moment, and then asked, "Is that what killed Ivan?"

Another nod.

"Yeah. We've exhumed him. Now that we have something to look for. His first official cause of death was listed as suicide, as I'm sure you know, but we know now that wasn't the case. I'm sure some money was involved in that declaration. He was exposed to a hell of a lot more of it than you. We think maybe no more than a month before his death. It wasn't just in that ink. His dosage was far too high. We're still working on that. I suspect it was in his cigarettes, personally. We think— Well. As a chemist, if you had to offer your opinion, hypothetical of course, as to where someone could just go about and obtain curium, where would you gander?"

That was obvious, and Ludwig immediately replied, "America."

"Yeah. We guessed that, too. We think you were targeted intentionally. I don't think Ivan mailed you that letter. I think Ivan wrote it with that ink, and then kept it for a while, for whatever reason. I think whoever poisoned him came across it, took it, and mailed it to you. Maybe they thought you knew more than you should have."

Ludwig snorted, heaved a sigh, and fell back into his pillow.

Ah, hell. He was a goner, so why bother mulling it over? It was done. Felicia was fine, and that was all Ludwig really cared about then.

Basch clasped his hands, leaned forward, lowered his voice, and then asked, "And I don't suppose you _did_ know more than you should have? Anything that can give us a lead here?"

"Sorry. I wish I did. But I don't."

Basch looked disappointed, and Ludwig felt that way, too, if only because he felt like he was dying for nothing.

Ludwig took his turn, and asked, "So, hypothetically of course, who do you think did it? The KGB, naturally?"

Basch lidded his eyes, looking quite condescending, and replied, "You know I'm not at liberty to say. I'm just some guy that now has Russia breathing down my neck. They say it was the Americans. The Americans say it was the Russians. Britain thinks it was the Italians. The Italians say it was an inside Swiss job. What do I know?"

The trouble with spies, Ludwig supposed. They were everywhere and in everything, and crossed each other so frequently and repeatedly that their webs could never possibly be untangled.

Still...

"For what it's worth," Ludwig whispered, tiredly, "Ivan wasn't dumb. He never met with another Russian. Ever. He wouldn't go near, speak to, or be alone with any Slav, from whatever nation. He was quite paranoid about that. He wouldn't have let any Russian into his home. If that helps."

"Guess it does," Basch murmured.

A heavy silence, as Ludwig felt utterly exhausted, and after a while Basch stood up.

"Well. I better let you rest. I'll try to come back, if I can. If I hear anything hypothetical, of course. Rest up, eh? Don't just go out easy."

Ludwig scoffed, and retorted, "Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, Basch took his leave, and he could hear then that Felicia was crying.

He didn't know what to say to her, and remained silent. A few hours later, there was a knock on the door, and they looked up to see Gilbert and Roderich standing there. Ludwig sat up, elated and yet so nervous and somehow horrified. Loved the both of them so much, and dreaded having to face them like this, on the brink.

An awful silence, and it was Roderich who came in first, chin high and trying so hard to remain calm and impervious, as he always had. It was Gilbert who hung back in the frame, staring at Ludwig through wide, bleary eyes and appearing immobilized.

Roderich sat down, after a hug, and Ludwig asked, "How was the trip?"

Small talk. Trying to pretend that everything was fine.

Roderich's swallowing and blinking said otherwise, but he answered, softly, "Alright. What can you ever really say about a train?"

Roderich was as pale as could be. Had never seen him so pale. He was older by now, was mostly grey, but still Ludwig could never have said that Roderich had ever looked his age. He did then, as he stared down at Ludwig silently. Looked tired and sad, weary, as his eyes ran over Ludwig's face. When Roderich opened his mouth, nothing came out.

Momentarily, his face collapsed, but Roderich was composed and dignified and pushed it away shortly after, seating himself on the chair in the corner.

Gilbert hung there in the doorframe yet, staring away at Ludwig as if Ludwig actually were radioactive. Ha.

To spur mystified Gilbert out of that stupor, Ludwig met his eyes and called, gently, "Hey, it's okay. I'm not actually radioactive."

No response from Gilbert, who merely inhaled sharply and crinkled his brow, before he finally took one step in, and then another. Felicia leaned down to kiss Ludwig's cheek, and whispered, "I'll go get some coffee or something."

She took her leave, placing her hand on Gilbert's shoulder as she passed him, and gave them a little space. Roderich, perhaps as stupefied as Gilbert, just sat there in that chair, dumbfounded and staring blankly away.

Gilbert came up to the edge of the bed, gripped the railing, and whispered, "You're not?"

Ludwig snorted, and replied, "It doesn't work like that. I can't give you radiation poisoning, man. Tough luck."

A crumple of Gilbert's face, and his next whisper was horrible.

"I wish you could. We've always done everything together."

How that hurt.

Gilbert looked _awful_. Was a complete wreck. Gilbert's eyes were red. Bleary. Dark circles beneath. His hair hadn't been combed in days, his clothes were wrinkled, and his cheeks were coated with heavy stubble. Had likely spent the entire train ride bawling.

As much as Felicia crying, Ludwig couldn't stand Gilbert looking so downtrodden and devastated.

To lighten the mood and break the ice, Ludwig reached weakly out, punched Gilbert's arm, and said, gruffly, "Hey. Think of it this way; it'll be a memorable death. I got poisoned by rogue KGB or MI6 or American agents with Curium, named after Marie Curie, and I get to die of aplastic anemia, which just so happened to kill Marie Curie. I mean, come on! It doesn't get more interesting than that. I'm gonna be way cooler than you, forever. Sucks for you. All that work you did."

Gilbert gave a weak, strangled laugh, hung his head, squinted his eyes, clenched his jaw, and burst into tears.

God, seeing Gilbert crying was unbearable. Seeing a man like that break down.

Gilbert clenched up Ludwig's hand, and finally said, through tears, "Damn, Lutz. Why you have to set the bar so high? Huh? How am I supposed to have a cooler death than this? Think about someone other than yourself, asshole."

Ludwig laughed, as Gilbert dissolved into more tears.

Curiously, it was Roderich who came up to Gilbert and put a hand on his back. Supposed there was really no choice for those two then than to put their rivalry and hard feelings behind them. A hospital was no place to fight and argue, after all.

For the next two weeks, Ludwig was surrounded every day and every hour by the three people he adored. Felicia slept in his bed, cramped as it was, and Gilbert and Roderich slept in the reclining chairs in the corners. No one left, and it was very satisfying to Ludwig, to have all of them there together.

His favorite moments were when they hunkered down over the bottom of the bed and played a game of cards together, trying so hard to pretend that everything was normal.

When Felicia combed Ludwig's hair, she pulled the chunks out of the brush and threw them straight away, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Gilbert turned his head away when the nurses came in to change Ludwig's IVs, and kept on chattering, as if everything were fine. Roderich still spoke to Ludwig about things they were going to do when Ludwig got better, and sometimes he trailed off, as if he had suddenly remembered that Ludwig wasn't going to get better, but then he would just carry on right where he had left off, and still pretended.

Despite their best efforts at playing everything off, there were so many more times when they just couldn't, and breakdowns were alarmingly frequent.

The worst part of dying wasn't even dying; it was just seeing all those people he loved crying like that. Seeing those rocks he had always held to suddenly so distraught and lost. To see Roderich pressed into the wall, hands hiding his face as his shoulders shook. To see Gilbert unable to speak for very long before his throat clutched up and his face collapsed. To see Felicia so pale and exhausted, having spent all of her tears and instead smiling in a beautiful and yet heartbroken way that was beyond devastating.

Coulda handled dying just fine if it hadn't been for that.

Days passed, and Ludwig grew weaker with each of them. Sometimes, that agent came by to speak to him, but had no new information to give him. It didn't matter, anyway. Would change nothing. Ludwig was happier that he had other people to take his mind off of it. Nowadays, everyone seemed to be together at all times. They all knew it was coming, and no one wanted to be away when it happened. Ludwig was grateful for that, and more grateful that Gilbert and Roderich had put aside all of their grievances with each other. They seemed quite at peace with each other then, and often stuck to each other's side as Felicia clung to Ludwig.

Ludwig was glad for that. That was a silver lining to all of this, he figured. Perhaps the best he would get.

Several days after, when Ludwig couldn't sit upright without Felicia helping him, Ludwig knew it wouldn't be much longer.

Felt it coming then, and maybe Felicia did, too.

Gilbert and Roderich sat side by side in the chairs later that evening, murmuring to each other, as Felicia came over and crawled up into the bed. When she rested her head on his chest and embraced him, she suddenly asked, out of the blue, "I know you don't believe in heaven. So what do you think happens? What do you think it's like, to die?"

He was gonna find out soon.

Roderich glanced up as he and Gilbert fell silent, and Ludwig contemplated.

He reached up, rested his hand on Felicia's forearm, and after a while, he said, "Well, I imagine it's just like sleeping. It's nothingness, like before your first memory was. But I think that as you're dying, right at the very last moment... What I imagine, anyway, is that it's like..." He trailed off for a moment, struggling to pin down how to word his thoughts, and managed to put together something somewhat tangible. "You know when you have a great dream, and then you start waking up, but not all the way? When you're sort of stuck there, not awake but not all the way asleep, and everything seems slow, and then before long you fall back right into that dream, and it feels like you've been there for years? I think that's what it will be like. I think at the very end, you fall back into that dream place and get to stay there, for a while. Hopefully it will feel like years."

Everything was quiet.

Gilbert stared at the floor, and Roderich had turned aside. Felicia didn't speak.

He hoped it would be like that.

That night, right before sleep, long after Gilbert and Roderich had nodded off, Felicia clenched his hand and whispered, over the glow of the dim lights, "I have a confession to make, too."

Ludwig inhaled, stirred, and turned his head to her so that she knew he was listening.

She didn't meet his eyes, and hesitated.

"When we met the first time, I... You know how upset I was, because my fiancé had left me. But what I didn't tell you, was that I— You look so much like him. I used you at first. Those first few months, I pretended that you were him. That's the only reason I ever dated you in the beginning. I didn't care about getting to know _you_ , because you looked like him and that was all I wanted. But I fell in love with you, and I... Even though I used you in the beginning, I love you, more than you know. I'm sorry."

Ludwig snorted, and leaned down to kiss her hair.

"Don't be. Lucky for me, huh? Otherwise I would have missed out."

Felicia shook her head, and was quick to add, "No. That's not all. I was afraid to tell you. After I fell in love with you, I couldn't say it. He left me because I— I knew I couldn't have children. I knew all along, and I didn't tell you, because that was why he left me, and I didn't want you to leave me, too, because I love you. I lied to you. I just pretended I didn't know, because I couldn't lose you. I feel now like I...as if I stole something from you."

Not true.

He forced her gaze that time, briefly, and said, very honestly, "I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. If you had told me, I wouldn't have left. I love you, and I would have always stayed. Always. Don't think that, because I would have always stayed. Nothing would have changed."

He meant that, more than she could know, and hoped she understood.

Everything was what it was. Ivan had left Ludwig. Felicia's fiancé had left her. For that, they had met, and Ludwig didn't regret any of it because things had worked out the way they had perhaps been meant to.

Felicia was quiet for a while, and then murmured, "I still love him, too, and I always will. Just like you, so don't feel like _you_ did anything wrong. That's the great thing about being a human, I guess. We can love more than one person. I'm glad you had someone else that made you feel that way, too."

She lifted her head then, met his eyes, and smiled.

The first time he had seen a real smile from her, since then.

"I don't know what happens after we die, but, whatever it is, I hope that I get to see you. Even if it's like you say, and it's just one last dream, I hope you'll be there. I know we only live for a blink, but I'm so glad mine was with you. I want you to be there."

He intertwined his fingers within hers, and vowed, "If it's possible and in my power, I'll be there. And god willing I won't be a dream."

He may not have believed in god or heaven, but he did hope, at some level, that it would be possible for him to be there for her at her end, as she was now at his. Would have been comforting to just believe it.

She kissed him, rested her head, and they slept.

When he awoke in the morning, he felt it. The beginning of the end.

That he was close.

Couldn't say how he knew. That awful sensation he had, and the numbness of his body. Cold and so sleepy. Had nothing left, nothing at all, and knew it was time.

Time to go.

He tried to turn his head to Gilbert, and barely managed, so weak he suddenly was.

"Hey," he whispered, and Gilbert looked up, eyes bleary and tired.

"Yeah, Lutz?"

He smiled, held Gilbert's gaze, and said, for one of the very, very few times in his life, "I love you, Gilbert." Instantly, Gilbert's face crumpled, his eyes squinted, his despair visible, and Ludwig was quick to add, "I know I always told you otherwise, but you actually were a great big brother. The best."

Gilbert sucked in air, struggled to open his eyes, and whined, "Why— You gotta say that _now_ , huh? Not now, man. Please."

As Gilbert cried, Roderich came forward, grabbed his hand, as Felicia clung to him tightly, and he lowered his voice to murmur, "Hey. Not yet."

The time was never going to be right, they all knew it, so there was really no point in denying it, in trying to fight it off. Ludwig just gave Roderich's hand the best shake he could, and murmured, "You're my father, you know? You always were. You don't know how much you mean to me. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Roderich tried hard to be strong, to remain impassive, and failed, dissolving into tears as much as Gilbert.

It was Felicia who was strong, as she had been now for weeks, and when Ludwig turned to face her, his nose pressed into hers. Her eyes ran over his face, and he hoped that she knew that he had a million things in his head that he wanted to say. Would never have had time, even in a healthy lifetime.

All he could think of to say to her was, "I'm glad my blink was with you."

A very quick scrunch of her face, pushed quickly away, and she smiled at him, that same beautiful smile she had sent him the day they had married.

She pressed forward to kiss him, and whispered, "Wherever you go now, I'll be with you. Until the end."

Gilbert's hand was suddenly on the top of his head, and that was one of Ludwig happier moments, surrounded by the three people he loved.

Had gone as far as he could have hoped to in his life, really, felt satisfied and content, felt loved and quite safe, so Ludwig just shut his eyes then and went to sleep. A new dream started.

By then, it was a relief.

That feeling of slipping into the surreal lull of time and space that accompanied deep sleep.

He realized soon that he was sitting down somewhere, but it was very dark, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust.

A grand, dark theatre. Below, an empty stage, the red curtain above. The seats were all empty. Quiet and dark. The edges were pitch black where the chairs ended, obscurity beyond, and Ludwig looked around a bit in a daze.

Not what he had really expected.

A warm, rough hand suddenly grabbed his own, and Ludwig's attention was taken from the stage and he looked over to his left.

A euphoric, burning rush.

Ivan. _Oh_ —

Ivan sat beside of him. Hadn't seen him in so long, so damn long, and he was every bit as remarkable as Ludwig remembered. Just as strikingly handsome as he had been the very first day Ludwig had first laid eyes upon him. Dressed so neatly, hair combed back and clean shaven. Those circles under his eyes were gone. He was young, healthy, perfectly strong and composed and no longer looking tired and defeated. How Ivan must have looked in the prime of his life, before terror had taken over.

He was beautiful.

No words he knew could have ever described that happiness, when Ivan pressed forward and kissed his forehead. That wonderful and familiar scent, right there and yet far away, just a whiff of the past. The feel of Ivan's hand.

They stared at each other for a long while, and somehow held a lifetime's worth of conversation even though not a single word was said. Merely looking into Ivan's eyes like that.

Maybe they had become cosmonauts, after all.

Ivan smiled over at him, holding his hand quite tightly, and Ludwig enjoyed the sight of him as the curtain on the stage suddenly lowered, just a bit. A very comfortable silence then, safety, and Ludwig rested his head on Ivan's shoulder, closing his eyes as a wave of sleep came over him from the depths.

Couldn't say how long he had rested there, and was stirred from that deep slumber by the sound of a piano. He opened his eyes, lifted his head, and turned his eyes to the stage below. Roderich sat there suddenly, playing as easily as he always had, and Ivan awoke as well. They watched, and Roderich turned his head briefly to the side, catching Ludwig's gaze. A long, loving stare, and Ludwig felt sleep coming right back up.

The curtain had lowered a bit more.

Supposed his subconscious desired all of them to be together.

Whether this was real or not was entirely inconsequential, as he once more rested his head on Ivan's shoulder and nodded off.

Years later, another sound, and that time it was Ivan who awoke first and nudged Ludwig gently awake. Once more, he looked down to the stage, where Gilbert now sat on a chair, guitar in hand and playing a pretty duet with Roderich, who perhaps hadn't stopped playing at all these ethereal years.

Gilbert sent Ludwig a wink, inclined his head, and Ludwig smiled down at him.

Those two, getting along at last as they had towards the end.

Well, then...

Only left one person.

Once again, the curtain fell just a bit, and Ludwig reposed against Ivan as he waited for their final member.

Felicia would come soon. He would wait for her.

Time didn't move for them, as Ivan murmured to him over the dimming lights. The world beyond them carried on, the stage ever in motion, and Ludwig only stirred from his slumber there against Ivan when another hand suddenly grabbed his right.

He looked over, and smiled.

Felicia had joined them at last. As beautiful and bright as she had been on their wedding day, hair lit up despite the lack of sunlight and eyes so loving, and somehow her smile was still the prettiest thing Ludwig had ever seen, even on the other side of the veil.

Felt at peace then, surrounded by the people he had most loved.

The lights went out, Gilbert and Roderich took their final bows, the curtain hit the stage, and Felicia leaned her head against his shoulder as he leaned his against Ivan's.

Sleeping then was easy, and not frightening. Effortless and soothing. The dream ended.

The distant crackle of radiation was drowned out by Felicia's soft, lethargic humming.

Night.


	11. URANUS (ItaGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : ItaGer. This is the prequel to 'Private Radio', so...you know how it ends, bruh.

* * *

**URANUS**

There was the old joke that the cooks in the restaurant were experts at wooing servers. And it was warranted, no doubt, but the tables turned a bit when the server happened to be Feliciano.

He was the wooer extraordinaire, and took great pride in that.

So lord knew that when that new cook showed up the very first day to train, nervous and shuffling and so serious and quiet, Feliciano had honed in on him instantly. A damn cute kid, for sure, tall and pale and very handsome. Platinum hair and the lightest blue eyes Feliciano had ever seen. Had taken one glance at that kid and never looked back.

Feliciano crept over, and very casually squirmed his way into the kitchen, where he knew he shouldn't be, and said, "Hey! New kid! How's it hanging? Like it so far?"

A glare from the kitchen manager, trying to train Ludwig, who barked, "He's been here for one hour. Get outta here!"

Considering that the kitchen manager was Feliciano's cranky older brother, he wasn't too worried about being written up or fired, so Feliciano hung there for a moment, smiling away at the new kid, who seemed afraid to answer after Lovino's chide.

Feliciano lifted his chin up, staring into those pretty eyes, and asked, "What's your name?"

"Ludwig."

"Nice to meet ya. I'm Feliciano. This is my brother. Don't you let him scare you. He's all talk, really. He sounds mean and tough, but he's a good guy."

Lovino glared at him, and very aggressively shooed him off, but Feliciano had never taken hints very well and haunted that kid for the rest of the day, popping up around corners and out of shadows. Every time, Ludwig jumped, looked startled and alarmed, and Feliciano laughed. Ludwig was very shy, that was clear, didn't seem to really know how to speak to or interact with people, and always fumbled his responses to Feliciano's quick questions.

Feliciano thought that Ludwig was the most adorable thing on the planet.

Had never met someone so shy, and that it came from such a tough-looking kid was even funnier. Ludwig was tall and pretty broad for his age, had that very stoic face and rather intimidating air about him, and it was so endearing to see just how red his face could burn the moment Feliciano paid him attention. Talk about the book not matching the cover.

Once Ludwig was trained and Lovino no longer hovered over him, Feliciano immediately began his famous charming. Ludwig didn't exactly swoon like most people did, but damn could he ever blush. He squirmed and writhed when Feliciano tormented him, and yet never exactly responded. He just seemed rather baffled, confused, and stared at Feliciano with wide eyes like a frightened puppy whenever Feliciano reached out and rested a hand on the back of his arm.

Lovino caught him flirting frequently and laid into him, rushing in to save Ludwig from him with aggressive shouts and gestures, but Feliciano was never deterred.

Ludwig settled in over the next few weeks, got used to Feliciano, and found his place.

Feliciano tried to get to know him a little, although getting Ludwig to talk was a bit of a struggle. Apparently he was seventeen and had taken this job to save up money because he wanted to study to become an engineer. Certainly ambitious, and Feliciano was glad he was there.

He liked Ludwig quite a lot, honed in on him, and thought about him frequently when not at work. Spent most of his time at night, come to think, playing out various scenarios in his head of how he could seduce Ludwig.

Seemed an uphill battle. From Ludwig's blushing, Feliciano was very certain Ludwig liked men, but getting him was truly a separate issue entirely. Was so aloof, so hard to get close to. Ludwig had a very high wall around himself, but it was nothing Feliciano couldn't scale.

One awful Friday night, he was finally able to. Sort of.

The restaurant was slammed. The line was out the door. Every table was full. Feliciano was juggling seven tables, and everyone was pissed.

The other cooks were angry, rushing, very flustered and very annoyed, and Ludwig just stood there on the line, very focused on the order beneath him and giving away nothing. Ludwig was usually on the line nowadays, as he was the only cook who didn't scream at the servers, and Lovino had long since realized his value in that position. Feliciano loved it, because Ludwig was always in sight and therefore always available for a good ogling and tease.

Really was pretty bad that night though, and everyone was so far in the weeds it felt as if they would never crawl out.

Only Ludwig was calm.

Feliciano, knowing he was pushing the envelope dangerously, poked his head down, and hissed at Ludwig to grab his attention. Ludwig glanced up, shifted his weight upon seeing Feliciano, and Feliciano said, with a wink, "Hey, man. I know you're busy, but how's my table looking?"

As expected, Ludwig lifted his chin very primly, narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, looked a bit offended, and glanced at Lovino.

Considering that Lovino was screeching to high heaven and angrily throwing fry baskets into the oil in a rage, it was no wonder that Ludwig declined to ask and instead said, casually, "Wait your turn."

Ludwig may have been terrified of Lovino, but Feliciano wasn't, and so he said, perhaps inappropriately, "If you get my table out first, I'll take you on a date."

Ludwig's face immediately blazed unholy red, as always, and Feliciano snorted and walked away. Had pressed his luck, he knew, and didn't want Lovino to see him there and throw a bowl at his head.

...wouldn't be the first time.

He waited in the corner with the other impatient servers, all of them uneager to catch hell from their respective tables, and when the bell rang, all of them flocked over.

Feliciano felt as if he had landed on the damn moon when he saw it was his table's food sitting there. Victory never tasted so good, and Feliciano ignored the other bitching servers to meet writhing Ludwig's gaze long enough to say, "Think about where you wanna go on that date."

Ludwig quickly vanished from sight, but as far as Feliciano was concerned, this was Ludwig consenting to actually go on a date with Feliciano, and no one and nothing would stop him from making that happen.

The rest of the night passed in a blissful daze for Feliciano, as the rest of the restaurant imploded into an unholy hellscape. Up in the clouds, and there was no coming down. When it was time to close, Feliciano slunk back into the kitchen, managed to snag Ludwig alone as he mopped, and asked, "So! Did you think about it? Where do you wanna go? I think we're both free Tuesday night."

Not that he stalked Ludwig's schedule. ...but he did.

Once more, Ludwig's pale face burned red, he lowered his eyes to his mop, and grumbled something incomprehensible.

Feliciano knew that he would have to take charge if he wanted anything at all to get done, and so he walked up to Ludwig, scribbled his number down and handed it to him, and said, with no room for discussion, "Text me later. We'll meet up Tuesday, and I'll take you somewhere nice. Alright? You accepted my deal. No going back."

Ludwig tried to speak and failed, but Feliciano had what he wanted and so he turned and left, letting Ludwig breathe a little so he didn't faint.

Tuesday couldn't come quickly enough.

But come it did, and Feliciano dressed very nicely, combed his hair back, used his best cologne, and was very ready to impress. He caught the bus and went to the restaurant, where Ludwig was waiting outside, chatting nervously with the host as he waited.

When Ludwig saw Feliciano coming and dressed up, his face took on that predictable shade of red, and Ludwig glanced down at his own clothing, as if anxious that he hadn't dressed up enough.

Kid looked fine whatever he wore, and to be quite frank Feliciano didn't care about Ludwig's clothes at all because he would rather have him without any.

So he took the lead, and led Ludwig down the street and into a glitzy, expensive restaurant across town. Ludwig seemed very out of place there, nervous and jittery, and it was clear that Ludwig wasn't used to being in fancy restaurants.

That first date with Ludwig was surreal, in a way. Couldn't believe he'd really managed to snag him at all, to get stoic, terrified, awkward Ludwig to ever bend and humor him at last.

All things considered, the date actually went pretty well, even if Ludwig's cheeks were always red and his eyes rarely left the table. Ludwig looked very out of his element, and so Feliciano tried to make everything as smooth as possible by ordering for him and then picking up the tab later, as Ludwig squirmed. He hoped he was coming off more as chivalrous than overbearing, but the kid looked a breath away from having an aneurysm.

Afterwards, though, when they left the restaurant and went on a walk along the park, in the dark and quiet, Ludwig seemed to gain a little more confidence and lifted his head up at last. Feliciano was bolstered and encouraged, and leaned sideways very frequently to gently ram his shoulder into Ludwig's.

They talked for a little, as Feliciano pried ever more information out of Ludwig, tried to get to know him a little beyond his handsome face. Ludwig was so shy, and it took a great deal of patience to get anything out of him, but Feliciano was up for the challenge.

He walked Ludwig back to where they had met, and said goodnight by kissing Ludwig's cheek, eliciting a jump of surprise and a blush so deep Feliciano was quite concerned that Ludwig was actually going to spontaneously combust.

Luckily he didn't, and Feliciano texted him later and asked him for a second date.

He stomped his foot and cried out victoriously when Ludwig answered with an affirmative, and Lovino shot him a look of annoyance.

That night, very late and when Lovino was asleep, Feliciano dug around his closet and pulled out his old easel and canvas, his brushes and paints. It had been years since he had touched them, having been utterly uninspired, but suddenly out of nowhere he just wanted to paint something.

Ludwig had had a profound effect on his mood, and he didn't sleep until nearly dawn, painting his hometown on the Italian coast for the first time in forever.

He felt happy. Hopeful.

When he had his second date with Ludwig, they went to a café instead, and Ludwig looked much more comfortable, was more open, and kept his eyes more frequently on Feliciano. That night, Feliciano once more kissed Ludwig's cheek, but Ludwig didn't jump that time, although the blush was almost as bad.

Come the third date, Ludwig didn't look down at the table at all, and rested his chin comfortably in his palm as Feliciano prattled endlessly.

That night, he kissed Ludwig fully, and although Ludwig was too stunned and awkward to really move or respond, Feliciano was very content, and gave Ludwig's cheek a pat as he snorted and drawled, "You're so cute."

Ludwig quickly fled, but immediately texted Feliciano later.

Feliciano painted now almost every day, and Lovino suggested that he start selling them, to make some extra money on the side although they certainly weren't hurting for money, with the large inheritance of their grandfather, as well as the huge house in which they lived.

It wasn't a bad idea, though, and it was something Feliciano actually enjoyed doing, so he started going to art shows, and worked less days in the restaurant. As for Ludwig, Feliciano had invited him at long last over to the house, and Lovino was quick to take his leave and go hit a bar before Ludwig showed up.

Ludwig was as nervous there as he had been on the first date, mumbling and tripping over his own feet and eyes down, but when he sat down and saw the easel, he lifted his eyes and seemed curious.

Feliciano had been very proud and somehow pompous, perhaps, when Ludwig had been very awed to discover that Feliciano had painted the canvases that lined the walls and floor. Like Lovino, Ludwig was quick to point out that Feliciano should really be doing that for a living instead of waiting tables, but it wasn't quite that easy.

Just a hobby.

It was nice to impress Ludwig though, given Feliciano's vanity, and he had been quick to pounce on Ludwig and pin him down on the couch for a very heavy makeout session. Ludwig, so shy and awkward, eventually came out and responded, and that was how they spent the entire night, just laying there together on that couch.

When Lovino came back, the date was over.

That became their new routine, and they fell quickly into a schedule.

Months passed in that fashion, and then, one night, Feliciano pulled back from Ludwig, disengaged his tongue somehow from Ludwig's throat, pressed their noses together, and managed to ask, huskily, "Stay the night."

A short passage of anxiety across Ludwig's face. Nervousness.

Ludwig bit in down in the end, and nodded his head.

Shortly after, when Feliciano's hands wandered a little too much, when things were far heavier than usual and he was far too riled up, Feliciano stood, hauled Ludwig upright with him, and walked him backwards to the bedroom. Didn't let warm Ludwig out of his hands for one second, keeping them very pressed against each other.

He pushed Ludwig back on the bed, and fell atop him.

When he rested his palm on Ludwig's pale neck, he could feel the pulse there hammering away, and he knew how scared Ludwig was. How nervous. Hell, the first time was always like that. Everyone had to be there once. Just a part of life.

Sure did cling to his shoulders, though, when Feliciano fell between his long legs.

Ludwig made it through, as Ludwig made it through every obstacle, and ran hands down Feliciano's back afterwards, making him shiver.

Feliciano was ever more enamored.

Afterwards, Ludwig essentially moved in, though not officially. Stayed there nearly every night, and Lovino had gotten used to his presence there.

Everything seemed on track. Perfect. Hopeful.

Feliciano could easily stand there and say that he was in love with Ludwig, all the way, and was focused on him, intent. Wanted no one else, and Feliciano began looking for a new house. Something for just him, and maybe that was because in the back of his mind he was planning out his future with Ludwig. Couldn't live with Lovino forever.

A few weeks of searching, and Feliciano found a small, cute little house that looked perfect for two people. The right price, too, a little bit outside of the city.

But when Feliciano told Lovino was he was up to, Lovino crinkled his brow, looked around, and griped, "What? You're gonna leave me here all alone, in this huge place? Pfft. Hardly. Tell you what. I think I know what you're up to. So how about I buy that house instead, and you can stay here? Ain't no way in hell I'm cleaning this place. You seem to have a good housewife lined up. Let him handle it."

A furious, burning rush of elation, as Feliciano pounced on Lovino and tried to squeeze the life right out of him.

Sometimes, when the stars aligned, Lovino could actually be something other than an asshole.

Now.

How to tell Ludwig that he wanted this to be _their_ home.

It had been a year. Surely that was enough time for Ludwig not to run away screaming if Feliciano asked him to move in. Had been plenty of time, and Feliciano was smitten with Ludwig, taken with him, and hoped to god that Ludwig would feel the same and agree. Feliciano had put far too much of his heart and soul into planning this proposition, and Ludwig's rejection would have entirely crushed him.

That night, Feliciano took Ludwig out to that restaurant where they had had their first date, chattered away nervously, and when Ludwig was relaxed and smiling, Feliciano reached across the table and snatched his hand. He leaned in, lowered his voice, forcing Ludwig to lean in as well to hear him, and said, "Lovino is moving out soon. I wanted to ask : will you move in with me?"

Ludwig's lips parted, he inhaled, and seemed quite shocked.

Feliciano's heart was pounding.

An awful silence, hesitation, and then Ludwig woke up, squeezed Feliciano's hand, and answered, gruffly, "Ye-yeah! Yeah! I'd love to. Yeah."

Feliciano exhaled, fell back in seat, and just stared across the table and fell ever more in love with that beautiful man.

Coulda died from happiness when Ludwig showed up two weeks later with suitcases, his brother in tow. Feliciano met Gilbert then for the first time, shook his hand, and Gilbert clapped his back and then punched his shoulder, saying, "Man! Never thought I'd be able to hand my little bro off to someone else. When's the wedding? I wanna be the best man."

Feliciano's mouth fell open as Ludwig turned crimson and quickly ran away into the bedroom, and when he recovered, Feliciano was the one to punch Gilbert's shoulder, replying, "Hopefully sooner rather than later! I'll write your name in the book."

Gilbert smirked.

Feliciano was beyond elated, needless to say, that meeting Ludwig's only family had gone so damn well, because god knew he didn't need any bumps in the road. Had everything all planned out, and honestly he had already gotten it into his head to marry that dumb blond even if Gilbert had punched him instead.

When Gilbert left that night, Feliciano and Ludwig sat on the couch, and Ludwig rested his face against Feliciano's neck, and said, softly, "I love you."

Pride.

Feliciano had said it a million times by then, but Ludwig had never once said it back, had choked every time, because Ludwig wasn't able to outwardly express sentiments like that. The first time he had ever said it, and Feliciano felt then that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

His life, the way he wanted it.

Ludwig was happy, and Feliciano would have done anything he wanted, anything, to keep him that way.

But he didn't stay that way forever.

Years passed then, and it wasn't really noticeable at first because it was such a slow and gradual shift, but Feliciano eventually became aware that something in Ludwig just seemed to change. Seemed to dull. Seemed to fade. As if Ludwig had burned so brightly at the beginning of their relationship that he was now just burning out altogether.

Quiet and solemn.

It wasn't terribly drastic, really. Ludwig had always been quiet and aloof, yeah, and maybe he was just better now at not letting Feliciano shake him up. That musta been it. They were essentially married now, even though they weren't yet, and naturally things changed when you went from casual to lockdown.

Ludwig didn't smile as often, but was still fairly affectionate.

That was all that mattered.

Until the fourth year, anyway, and then Ludwig withdrew ever further. Seemed to squirm almost at times, under Feliciano's palm. Didn't speak unless spoken to. Barely responded to Feliciano's kiss, and was very still and limp within his hands.

It was so strange. Feliciano just couldn't figure it out, couldn't put his finger on it.

Feliciano was so enamored with Ludwig, so blind to anything else, that it never once occurred to him that maybe Ludwig was just falling out of love. Ludwig had never been with anyone before Feliciano, had never been out in the world, had never interacted with people. Of course Ludwig had loved Feliciano at first, because kids were like that and didn't know any better. The first love, after all, burned the brightest.

Feliciano loved Ludwig, all the way and with no question, and so he just assumed that Ludwig felt that way, too.

He was just so _quiet_.

Ludwig didn't wait up for Feliciano to come home anymore, didn't lean over to kiss his cheek in the morning, didn't respond when Feliciano wrapped arms around his neck from behind and kissed the top of his head.

Pensive. Distant.

Ludwig...

What was wrong with him?

Ludwig was always so deep in thought lately, always so quiet. Never smiled anymore, not like he used to. Thin smiles, halfhearted and rather false. Nothing at all like it had been.

Even Lovino noticed, and Feliciano had hung around the corner one day as Lovino asked Ludwig, during a visit, "You feelin' alright? You been lookin' a little out of it lately. You getting sick?"

Ludwig's quiet murmur.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't feel so good, really."

Ludwig didn't feel good, no doubt, but not because he was sick. At least not physically. What was _wrong_ with him? He had always told Feliciano everything before. Ludwig had never hidden anything from him, and yet now Ludwig was suffering with something in silence.

Just couldn't figure it out.

Didn't know what to do, and so Feliciano called Gilbert one night, and said, "Hey— Ludwig's been kinda out of it lately. He's not sick, he's just—"

 _"Moody?"_ Gilbert interrupted, and Feliciano paused.

Moody?

"Yeah," Feliciano answered. "Guess so. He's just been really quiet. Is this normal for him?"

Gilbert snorted, and waved it off with a casual, _"Don't worry! He's fine, really. He's been like that since he was little. One day he's happy as a clam and then the next day you'd think the entire world had ended, from the look of him. He'll snap out of it."_

Whew.

"Thanks, man."

_"Sure. No wedding date yet?"_

Confidence rising once more and feeling a little secure, Feliciano teased back, "Soon! Real soon. Better start looking for a suit."

Gilbert's noise of excitement.

When Feliciano hung up the phone, he crept into the bedroom, crawled in beside sleeping Ludwig, and threw an arm over him, pulling him in.

It was just a low tide for Ludwig, that was all.

He'd get better.

Naturally, Feliciano knew that he should probably try to speak to Ludwig about it, to ask him why he was feeling this way, what had set him off, but he never did.

Feliciano never asked, because in the back of his mind he was very scared of the answer he would receive. Didn't want to know if Ludwig was thinking about leaving, if Ludwig was unhappy, if Ludwig was having second thoughts about this relationship, because Feliciano still felt in that moment as he had that very first day. If Ludwig didn't feel that way, then Feliciano didn't want to know, to be quite frank.

Feliciano may have had a penchant for delusion, perhaps, because even though Ludwig was very clearly withdrawing himself, Feliciano still went out on the fifth year and bought a ring. He was very intent on spending the rest of his life with Ludwig, even if Ludwig needed a little prodding now. Perhaps Feliciano was just so taken with Ludwig that he was blinding himself to reality, fooling himself.

He clung to Gilbert's words.

Ludwig would come around again. Eventually.

Just needed to be patient.

They were great together. They were. The perfect couple. Everyone said so. Ludwig just needed to remember that, and Feliciano had convinced himself that proposing to Ludwig would be the boost Ludwig needed, the reminder, the kick in the ass Ludwig needed to wake up and regain focus.

Feliciano was intent, and nothing made him doubt himself.

Even if Ludwig was utterly silent nowadays.

For Ludwig's birthday, Feliciano took them on a long weekend trip to his own birthplace of Genoa, chose a hotel with a rooftop bar, and had everything planned out perfectly in his head.

Had fantasized about this for months and months, could see everything so clearly, had such high expectations :

He would give his speech, and throughout it he would steadily see that dullness leave Ludwig's eyes, he would lean forward, and Ludwig would follow suit subconsciously, and then Feliciano would pull that box out of his pocket, open it up, and Ludwig would light up and shine as much as the ring did when the light hit it.

Everything would go back to the way it was.

Had to be that way, had to, just couldn't fathom it not going the way he had planned it up in his head.

The first two days were a little hard, yeah, as Feliciano tried to give Ludwig a tour of his hometown, only for Ludwig to be utterly silent and just stare out blankly to the horizon. Feliciano tried hard, anyway, leading Ludwig along with a hand on the back of his arm. Ludwig, dazed and dumb, just ambled along wherever Feliciano led him.

At night, far from a romantic holiday atmosphere, Ludwig sat out on the balcony in the warm air, hands clasped in his lap, and Feliciano couldn't get up the nerve to talk to him because sometimes he swore that Ludwig's face crumpled a little and he looked so _sad_.

Why?

Just didn't get it.

Feliciano was jumping through hoops for Ludwig, and Ludwig just didn't seem to notice or care anymore.

They got in the elevator that night, the last night, _the_ night, and Feliciano was so sick with nervousness and anxiety and excitement that he was dizzy. Nauseous. Coulda puked right there in the elevator but held it together, and they took their reserved table in the corner, by the window and overlooking the city.

Ludwig immediately rested his chin in his palm and turned his eyes to the window. Didn't look at Feliciano at all, but Feliciano was too high on adrenaline to care, to stop, to wait. He had planned this for months, and couldn't let anything shake him.

So Feliciano took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and leaned across the table to say, "Happy birthday, baby."

He paused, waiting for a response, but received none. A hit to his confidence, but only a little.

Couldn't stop—he had come this far.

Ludwig's pale eyes ran over the city lights, as Feliciano once more gathered himself up.

Had to be confident, had to be, however Ludwig zoned.

"Can you believe we've been together five years now? Still feels like yesterday to me that I was flirting with you through the window. Time flies when you're in love, huh? I know maybe it hasn't been... Maybe it's not everything you wanted, and I'm sorry. I'm trying my best, I am. I just want you to be happy. I— Being with you, these have been the best years of my life, they really have. I've never been in love with anyone they way I am with you. I'll do anything you want me to, anything. I know it's hard for you to say those kinda things, and it's alright. You don't need to say it, you know? I know how you feel, because that's how I feel."

Feliciano's voice shook, a little, out of sheer nervousness, and his hand was shaking too when he lowered it carefully down and into his pocket.

He took the little box into his fist, and clenched it for all he was worth.

Oh, _please_.

Ludwig was still staring away, hadn't uttered a word, but Feliciano hadn't expected him to, nah, and so he pushed on, after chugging a glass of wine for extra courage.

"So, I've been thinking. We've been together so long now, and I'm happy. We live together. We do everything together. I want it to always be that way. I want us to be official, really official, and I hope you want that, too, 'cause I've been kinda... Well. I've been planning things, you know? And damn! Would I ever love to have you with me for the rest of my life. So, will you—"

He started pulling his hand out, ready to spring, and then suddenly stopped short, because...

Blankness.

Ludwig was staring out at the city, completely and totally blank, lost up in his head, out in space, and Feliciano hadn't noticed really until then, that absence. It took him far too long, through his terror and anxiety, to realize that Ludwig was staring yet out over the city and sea and hadn't been listening to a single word he had said.

Ludwig wasn't being awkwardly quiet; Ludwig just wasn't _listening_.

Devastation.

Nothing had ever _hurt_ quite that bad.

That awful ache in his chest, the pang of despair, heartache.

The sense of something he adored slipping right through his fingers.

He let go of the little box in his pocket, put his hands upon the table, and felt angry and annoyed then, because he was scared, and he reached out to snap his fingers crankily in Ludwig's face, barking, "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Ludwig glanced over at him, chin still rested in his palm, and looked a bit dazed. So distant and lost. Wherever Ludwig was going nowadays off in his head, only he knew. Ludwig wasn't really there when he looked into Feliciano's eyes. A noncommittal shrug of Ludwig's shoulder, his eyes lowered, and then he turned his gaze back out to the city and stayed silent.

Hurt.

Feliciano waved down another bottle of wine, hands shaking, and drank the entire thing by himself.

His illusion was harder and harder to hold onto. Feliciano was a master of ignoring problems and pretending, but even he was beginning to have trouble clinging to this fantasy and telling himself that everything would be alright.

That night, drunk Feliciano sat out on the balcony, and Ludwig went to bed without saying one single word. Feliciano stared out over the city, feeling so _stupid_ , that ring still in his pocket, and when Ludwig was asleep a while later Feliciano dissolved into drunken tears and buried his face in his hands.

Nothing had gone right.

The next morning, clueless Ludwig began dutifully packing the suitcases, as Feliciano sat there, hung-over and heartbroken, glowering away at the wall.

Silence.

They passed the entire flight home in utter silence, stepped off the plane, got into the car, walked back into their home, and Ludwig had yet to utter a voluntary word.

Feliciano waited until Ludwig was asleep that night, and shamefully buried the ring in the dresser, stashing it under his shirts and feeling an absolute fool. Must have been a fool, really, because even now he still had hope. He'd hide the damn thing for now, and pull it out again soon when Ludwig perked back up. When Ludwig came around, when Ludwig saw him there again, Feliciano would unbury the ring and try again.

This wasn't the end, it wasn't.

Feliciano held out hope. It was just a bad stretch. Everyone had those, everyone, and sooner or later they would get past it and put it behind them and be as they once had. They'd find that place again, that happiness, and Ludwig would smile like he used to.

He had to believe that.


	12. ORACLE (PruGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : PruGer. (Miss Kiwi, can you stop telling me to go get fucked now? JK, I love your abuse.)

**ORACLE**

The whole damn thing had come to a head when Gilbert's stupid bird had opened its mouth in front of Ludwig for the first time.

If there was truly one thing that Ludwig just couldn't understand about Gilbert, it was his entirely random and utterly bizarre affinity for birds. Gilbert was the toughest guy Ludwig had ever known. Big and broad, gruff, rugged, macho and egotistical. Gilbert lifted weights and then went to the bar to cause a ruckus, had girls chasing after him, had friends that were as much troublemakers as he was. Gilbert looked like he had just gotten kicked out of the navy or something, with his rough style of clothing and short hair sticking up at the top, muscle everywhere and always smirking.

Being an albino only made Gilbert look more, well... _badass_ , though Ludwig hated giving Gilbert any unnecessary credit.

Gilbert was a badass, plain and simple, and so Ludwig had always found it strange that Gilbert's pet of choice wasn't an equally badass dog, or a snake, or a lizard, or even a cat.

Gilbert loved birds. Loved them, and one of Ludwig's earliest memories was of accompanying Gilbert to a pet store only to have Gilbert actually coo at the birds as much as he had ever cooed at Ludwig.

Bizarre.

Gilbert had always had a bird throughout Ludwig's life. In the beginning they had been small birds, typical pets, short lived little finches and the what-not. Ludwig was no expert, certainly not, but he knew that he very much disliked birds.

He found them disgusting, to be quite frank. Infectious little things, dead-eyed and creepy, fluttering about here and there and shedding feathers along with disease. Ugh. Made him shudder even thinking about it. Birds were _creepy_ —what the hell was wrong with Gilbert? Horrible reptilian feet, talons, hollow and pure masses of feather and killing instincts. Vicious, remorseless, emotionless little piles of viruses and murder.

Gross.

Gilbert had found his soul mate, so to speak, when Ludwig had been eleven. An abandoned cockatoo, white and large, with orange-red feathers on its head. Fifteen years old. Gilbert had fallen in love with it instantly, had taken it home, and had said to Ludwig, 'Look! He kinda looks like me.'

Ludwig had rolled his eyes, and grumbled, 'Yeah, sure. You're both bird-brains, alright.'

Gilbert had punched his shoulder, and had named the cockatoo Siegfried. Why, Ludwig didn't know. But it made him sick, walking into Gilbert's home every afternoon after school and hearing him cooing, 'Sigi!'

Yuck.

Gilbert was smitten with that bird, absolutely taken with it, and often walked about after that with the soulless cretin perched there upon his shoulder. Ludwig, for the first time in his life, was happy that Gilbert had moved out, because he couldn't stand that thing. Gilbert was ten years older than Ludwig, had his own place, and they weren't real brothers anyway.

Ludwig was the adopted one, and maybe that was why Gilbert had adopted that cockatoo.

'Get used to him!' Gilbert had said. 'He's gonna be around longer than me. Know how long these things live?'

Ludwig shuddered.

Years passed with that horrible bird, which had attached itself to Gilbert out of instinct, because obviously that little demon couldn't _feel_ anything (Gilbert naturally disagreed), and Ludwig had begrudgingly accepted Siegfried's presence in his life. Loved Gilbert far too much to ever not come over because Gilbert's had a hell-spawn fluttering about.

Anyway, the bird seemed as leery of Ludwig, and never ever talked to him, despite Gilbert claiming that it was a chatterbox.

Sigi didn't talk to strangers, much like Gilbert had always taught Ludwig in childhood, and so it usually just cocked its head to the side and stared Ludwig down from behind those cold, terrifying eyes.

Ludwig was twenty-three by then. Twelve years with that feathered creep, and it hadn't said one damn word to Ludwig.

Sigi hated him.

Ludwig and Gilbert spent the nights on the couch, cuddled up and watching television, and Ludwig swore that the bird was plotting ways to annihilate him. Sometimes, the little shit would come flying out of nowhere and right into Ludwig's face. Ludwig, although he prided himself on his masculinity as much as gruff Gilbert did, screamed like a girl in those instances, bolting to his feet and shuddering as he fled from that godless creation.

Gilbert always laughed, and said, 'He's jealous!'

And it did actually seem that way. Gilbert loved that bird, and the bird in turn was obviously possessive of Gilbert, because every time Gilbert laid a hand on Ludwig there was inevitably the fluttering of wings. The bird had it in for Ludwig, because Ludwig and Gilbert were always together.

Sometimes, Ludwig felt that Gilbert intentionally manhandled him just to get a rise out of the bird and make it jealous.

On the couch, Gilbert threw an arm over Ludwig's shoulder and hauled him in, and the bird rushed into Ludwig's face.

In the kitchen, Gilbert put a hand on Ludwig's back and leaned in to kiss his cheek, and the bird squawked and bit the tip of Ludwig's boot.

Sometimes, Gilbert would smirk a little and drag Ludwig up to his feet, yank him in, and rock them back and forth in some weird little sort of dance, and the bird would come flapping in and land on Gilbert's shoulder, causing Ludwig to wrench back and shriek.

Inside of Gilbert's home, it seemed that Gilbert's hands were always running over Ludwig in one manner or another, and Ludwig both loved and hated it.

Gilbert laughed every time the bird tried to end Ludwig, ego stoked no doubt by something being possessive over him, even if it was just a bird.

Gilbert just couldn't have known that Ludwig died inside a little bit during every instance in which Gilbert's hand was upon him, and not because he feared the bird. Ludwig had developed a very large, very potent, very awkward crush on Gilbert throughout his life, and of course could never say so. They weren't brothers, no, but they had grown up together in that sort of manner, and so Ludwig could never turn to Gilbert and say, 'I'm in love with you, so kiss me you asshole.'

Couldn't even count how many times he had hoped that Gilbert would twist at the side and shove him down on the couch.

Alas.

Would never live that down had he admitted it, and Gilbert distancing himself was the most terrifying prospect of Ludwig's entire existence, even more than being pecked to death by a flock of birds.

So Ludwig stayed quiet, and pined as Gilbert jostled him.

This was the sad state of Ludwig's love life at present : being used by his not-really-brother to make a goddamn spawn of oblivion jealous.

Just kill him.

And then one day, in summer, Gilbert grabbed Ludwig around the neck, tussled his hair, throttled him, kissed his head, and said, "Lutz! I need a big favor."

"What?" Ludwig asked, when his neck was free from Gilbert's huge arm.

"I'm going on vacation—"

"Where? With who?"

Ludwig wasn't jealous like the bird, really! Really. Just...Gilbert was a troublemaker, after all.

...why hadn't Gilbert invited _him_? Hmph.

Not jealous, though.

"To Thailand!" Gilbert said, eagerly, and Ludwig's mouth dropped open. "Me and the guys are going for two weeks."

The guys—so who the hell was Ludwig?

Okay, _now_ he was jealous.

"Why? With who?"

"Antonio and Francis. They talked me into it. Said it would be a good time. Cheap beer and pretty girls, they said. Boxing in bars." Gilbert punched Ludwig's chest, playfully, and said, "I can get into lots of fights and win some money."

"You're gonna get your ass kicked," Ludwig immediately said, with no hint of humor, and Gilbert waved him off.

Ludwig may or may not have been pouting a little, because Gilbert suddenly swept forward and grabbed Ludwig up in his arms, pressing forward again to kiss his temple.

"Hey! Come on! Don't be mad! I knew you wouldn't wanna go, it's too damn hot for you, and you don't like to get into trouble. You'd just be babysitting us the whole time. Anyway, I kinda have another babysitting job in mind."

Oh, no—

Ludwig narrowed his eyes, sent Gilbert his most dangerous look, and writhed out of his arms, saying, firmly, "Absolutely not. No way. No, Gilbert. No."

Gilbert lunged forward and tackled him again, this time fully engaging his muscles and squeezing Ludwig so tightly that escape was impossible.

"Please, Lutz!" Gilbert crooned, in that voice he used to talk to his bird. "Please! It's just two weeks. You know I wouldn't ask if you weren't the only person. The guys are coming with me, so who else is there?"

Satan, for one, since surely he had been the one to create that horrible little creature.

"Please, man! I'll make it up to you. I'll do anything you want. I'll be your slave."

A rush of red to Ludwig's face, and his will foundered a little, because god help him he woulda done anything for Gilbert, even _that_. He had such a huge crush on this miserable bastard, hated himself for it, but hell.

He foundered when Gilbert pulled back enough to look into his eyes, because Gilbert was extra handsome when he was pleading.

Dammit.

"Alright," Ludwig grumbled, and Gilbert lit up, kissing Ludwig's cheek quickly.

One day, maybe Gilbert would get so excited that he would kiss Ludwig on the lips. He held to that pitiful little hope.

The next thing dazed Ludwig knew, he was in Gilbert's house and Gilbert was putting list after list into Ludwig's clammy palm, giving him an endless lecture. Good lord, had never received such detailed instructions on anything in his life.

Gilbert loved this bird, adored it, and so Ludwig knew his own life and health rested on the life and health of this dead-eyed little avian. A dead bird was a dead Ludwig, and Ludwig felt the pressure. The anxiety was high.

Before Gilbert left, he hugged Ludwig, grabbed his waist and kissed his forehead, hugged him again, kissed his cheek, hugged him one more time, and then departed, calling as he went, "Lutz! Don't you dare keep Sigi locked up the whole time! I'll know if you do!"

Ludwig curled his lip, and wanted to die.

Gilbert was gone then, and Ludwig's nightmare came true : just him and the horrendous little bird, who was already staring at him dangerously.

Ludwig turned around, met those lifeless eyes, stood up straight and tall, and said, commandingly, "It's just me and you now. Don't you dare cause any trouble, you bastard, or I'll cook you for dinner."

Sigi cocked his head, and Ludwig swore the bird understood him somehow, because he suddenly came flapping at Ludwig's face. Ludwig shrieked, as usual, and ran out of Gilbert's house.

Those days _sucked_.

The first week, Sigi pecked at his boots, flapped at him, tried to intimidate him, tried to run him off, and when that didn't work, the bird started making unholy noises. Demonic growls and hisses and the weirdest sorts of sounds, and Ludwig was certain that he was staring into the very pit of hell itself when that bird snarled at him.

Holy shit, that was terrifying!

After the first week, though, having failed to run Ludwig off, Sigi finally seemed to accept Ludwig's presence, as begrudgingly as Ludwig had accepted his. Ludwig was able to sit on Gilbert's couch and channel surf without Sigi trying to fly in and claw his eyes out.

Strangely enough, however, it seemed that after the spewing of bird-vitriol, Sigi actually warmed up to Ludwig.

Ludwig did _not_ want that, sorry to say.

One night, as Ludwig sighed and lounged on the couch, the bird suddenly decided at last to speak to Ludwig. Completely out of nowhere. Sigi flew down to the floor before the couch, looked up at him, eyed him for a moment, and then he spoke up.

What he said certainly took Ludwig aback.

Just stared up at him creepily, those cold eyes unblinking, and then crooned, "Lutz is hot!"

Erhm—!

Oh!

Dumbly, stupidly, Ludwig said, "Thank you," because it was automatic and he didn't know what else to do. He immediately realized how idiotic that was, and nearly smacked his own forehead.

The bird bobbed his head, eyeing him fervently, and Ludwig stared right back at the damn thing.

Hmm...

Ludwig sat up and leaned over the edge of the couch, got as close to the infectious little bastard as he dared, and he asked, dumb as ever, "Who said that?"

Was he really holding a conversation with a bird? He was about as bird-brained as Gilbert and his pet.

...Gilbert's pet. Right. Gilbert's pet. Gilbert. Gilbert's pet, who didn't talk to strangers and was exposed to only Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio.

Well, well, well.

The holy trinity of rushing hormones, for sure, and Ludwig heaved a sigh when the bird was silent again. Coulda been any single one of them that had said that, because all three of them thought only with their second brains and talked endlessly about 'hot' things.

Was kinda good for his ego, though, knowing that at least one of them held him in high physical regard. Probably Francis, though, considering that Francis had already made a pass at him, before being punched in the face by Gilbert.

The bird didn't say anything else that night, and Ludwig went home shortly after.

The next day, however, Sigi flew at him when he came into Gilbert's home. Ludwig shrieked as usual, but Sigi didn't try to murder him, and instead landed on his shoulder. Ludwig tensed up, eyes wide and absolutely petrified, glancing over at the awful thing on his shoulder as he clamped his jaw.

Holy shit, oh god, oh no, oh shit, what the hell did he do to get this pile of germs off of him? Oh, god, he was gonna be sick—

He took a stiff step forward, and then another, hoping the motion would make Sigi fly off, but it didn't. He went to Sigi's perch in the living room, leaned towards it, but the creep didn't take the hint and sidestepped over to Ludwig's other shoulder as Ludwig squirmed and a high-pitched noise of distress escaped his throat. Ludwig was forced to raise a shaking hand up to the bird and try to coax it. Sigi stepped on his wrist, Ludwig lost six lives, and finally was able to put the bird on the perch.

He immediately ran into Gilbert's bathroom, stripped his clothes, took a shower, and then commandeered Gilbert's clothing as he threw his own in the wash.

Disgusting!

He went on a cleaning frenzy after that, disinfecting every possible surface and spraying the couch and carpet with whatever he could get his hands on. The bird just watched him, tilting his head, and Ludwig couldn't stop shuddering.

He plopped down on the couch as the sun set, tried to relax, and griped to no one, "Goddammit, Gilbert. I deserve to get laid for this. You son of a bitch."

He writhed a little, pitifully, kicking his legs and wondering why Gilbert just wouldn't fucking make a pass at him like Francis had. Gilbert would bang just about anyone as long as they were warm, but wouldn't even give Ludwig a fucking kiss.

Pitiful.

When Ludwig was dozing off a little in front of the TV later, he was very rudely awakened when the goddamn bird came flapping down straight onto his head. He shrieked for the millionth time, bolted upright, rubbed himself up and down and shuddered, and sent the bird a glare.

 _Gross_ —

The bird stared up at him as blankly as always, lit up in the light of the TV, and Ludwig shuddered once more, pulled himself together, and grumbled, "You demonic little shit."

Sigi cocked his head, and then spoke again.

This time, he squawked, "One day, Lutz will be my boyfriend! Just you wait and see."

A blaze of red to Ludwig's face, but at least this time he didn't stupidly offer the bird his thanks for the compliment.

Once more, Ludwig asked, "Who said that? Why don't ya tell me something useful, you little creep!"

The bird bobbed his head, uselessly.

Ludwig sighed, and sat up to run his hands over his face.

Had a secret admirer, did he? How quaint. Kinda wished it had been a public admirer, because he was single as hell and very, very lonely. Francis had never hit on him again after Gilbert's punch, Antonio admired handsome men but was straight, so that ruled him out, but—

Oh, wait.

A thought struck Ludwig, very powerfully, and he looked over his hands to gawk at the bird in disbelief. Utter disbelief, because Ludwig had suddenly realized that neither Antonio nor Francis called Ludwig 'Lutz'. In fact, the only person who really called him that at all was Gilbert.

Only Gilbert called him Lutz.

Ludwig stared down at the bird, and then realized he had started smiling.

A rush of adrenaline, hope, elation, excitement.

It may have been pitiful, but so be it! He had had a crush on that handsome jerk since he was old enough to have romantic feelings, and thinking that maybe it had been mutual was incredible. He had half a mind to actually hug that disgusting little cretin for a moment, but quickly pushed that aside.

Instead, he quirked a brow, sneered a little, and said, "That jerk! He thought you would never speak to me. Well! We got one over on him, didn't we, Sigi?"

The bird recognized his name and took that as an invitation to flap up and onto Ludwig's chest. Ludwig screamed, leapt up, and ran into Gilbert's bedroom in a fit to escape.

God almighty, just wanted Gilbert to get back home.

Several days later, he did, mercifully.

When at long last there was a knock on the door, Ludwig straightened up and smirked away, smoothed back his hair, and began his march.

When he pulled the door open, there Gilbert stood, sunglasses up on his head, skin red from sunburn, suitcase in hand. A quick meeting of eyes, and Gilbert splayed out as he always did, face full of arrogance, and he was very quick to reach out and punch Ludwig's chest as always, uttering gruffly, "Hey, Lutz! How's my little baby?"

Alive and well, surprisingly. It hadn't been as hard as Ludwig had anticipated, but the bird was the very last thing on Ludwig's mind.

Time to put this to bed.

...and put Gilbert to bed at the same time.

So Ludwig leaned in the doorframe, crossed his arms over his chest, gave handsome Gilbert a very long look up and down, and then said, simply, "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

Gilbert opened his mouth, lost his voice, and suddenly Gilbert's face was blazing red from something other than sunburn.

Ludwig was the one smirking then, giving Gilbert another very obvious raking up and down, and then Ludwig said, casually, "So. Your bird finally decided that I was worth speaking to."

Gilbert's face was so red then that Ludwig worried he would combust, and Gilbert suddenly turned his head aside, raised a palm to his face, and seemed utterly mortified.

That was when Ludwig knew for absolute certain that no mistake had been made, and Ludwig didn't give Gilbert time to die from humiliation. He reached out, snatched Gilbert's collar, yanked him inside, shut the door, ripped the suitcase from Gilbert's lax hand, and pounced.

Gilbert inhaled in shock and seemed quite stupefied when Ludwig pushed him up against the wall and kissed him. Froze up like a board, for a second, eyes wide as could be and immobile. But Gilbert was always quick to regain control, snapped out of it, and in one swift movement had twisted them around so that it was Ludwig pinned up against the wall.

And everything was excellent for one wonderful minute, what with Gilbert's tongue lost down his throat and his hands on the back of Gilbert's red neck, until the fucking bird realized Gilbert was there and came barging in, flapping full force into their faces. Predictably, Ludwig screeched and shuddered, and Gilbert started laughing.

Didn't stop laughing for about five minutes, as he coddled his bird, kissed his disgusting little head, cooed at him, and then locked him up in a rare moment.

The second Gilbert locked Sigi in his cage, Ludwig knew he was about to be wrecked.

Gilbert marched on Ludwig, looking very intent, and Ludwig took a step back, and then another as Gilbert started sneering. Ludwig held up a hand in warning, and said, in his most dangerous voice, "Gilbert! No. Stop! Don't you dare!"

Gilbert kept marching, and Ludwig kept backing up.

"Gilbert! _NO_! You just kissed that disgusting bird, _Gilbert_ —"

Gilbert's sneer was wide and satisfied, as Ludwig backed himself into a corner.

No, no, no, not like this! Gilbert's lips had just planted themselves on the virulent plumage of that vile little cesspool, no—

No, no, no!

Gilbert advanced, menacingly, and because Ludwig was dumb he found himself pinned in a corner with Gilbert's massive biceps locking him in. Gilbert leaned in, and Ludwig craned his neck in ways he hadn't known were physically possible in effort to avoid Gilbert's tainted lips.

He was screeching the entire while, as Gilbert turned this way and that in an effort to kiss him.

Ludwig lost the last of his three lives in those awful minutes.

Gilbert finally conceded, if only not to murder him by coronary, and suddenly Ludwig was very roughly picked up and tossed over Gilbert's shoulder like a sack. What the fuck? Ludwig very weakly protested, bringing his fists down gently on Gilbert's back, but Gilbert carried him into the bathroom, threw him down into the bathtub, and turned on the shower overhead.

Ludwig shrieked one more time when the cold water hit him, and by then he was really feeling the strain in his vocal chords. Gilbert, the bastard, kept Ludwig from crawling out with his foot, yanked his shirt off, then his belt, and waited until the water was warm before he leapt on Ludwig.

Literally.

"Is this better?" Gilbert crooned, as he pinned Ludwig down in the bathtub, the water falling down over them.

Ludwig smartly slapped Gilbert's sunburned neck to let him know how he felt. Gilbert winced, but was far too determined to let that bother him.

And well...

From a very technical, biological standpoint, why yes, this was better. Much, in fact, but Ludwig still reached out, snatched the bar of soap, and forcibly ran it over Gilbert's lips. Gilbert snorted as Ludwig used his hand to scrub Gilbert's lips free of whatever murderous viruses lingered there, and Gilbert managed to grumble, "You're fuckin' crazy, you know? Good thing you're hot."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Likewise. You're the worst."

Would have enjoyed being pinned under Gilbert much more had his clothes not been soaking wet, but that didn't really matter too much shortly after when Gilbert sat up and pulled them off.

Not exactly how Ludwig had planned it up in his head, but good enough.

More than good enough, actually, when Gilbert leaned down, pressed their noses together, as water dripped down from his hair. Gilbert was always handsome, but was quite beautiful in that moment to Ludwig when he suddenly smiled. The weight of Gilbert above him was certainly pleasing, at any rate, and now that Gilbert was no longer infectious Ludwig arched his neck up to kiss him.

Long, heated minutes as Gilbert pressed into him and nearly suffocated him, and when Gilbert began squirming out of his own wet pants, Ludwig did dutifully chide, "You're wasting water."

Gilbert scoffed, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "I leave it on, and you complain about wasting water. I turn it off, and you're gonna complain that you're too cold. I can't win with you. I never can."

Ludwig might have smirked a little, but was denied the chance to complain about anything else when Gilbert successfully kicked his soaking boxers off, clumsily, and refocused.

Ludwig did glimpse the dark, ugly bruises all over Gilbert's chest and abdomen then, and it was his turn to laugh, as he offered, so helpfully, "I told you you'd get your ass kicked!"

Gilbert glared at him, cursed under his breath, and very roughly grabbed Ludwig's arms to pin him down, grunting, "I'm about to kick _your_ ass."

And boy did Gilbert ever mean that, as he tossed Ludwig around like a damn rag doll in that bathtub, trying to pretend he was actually a boxer or something, probably because Ludwig had pricked his huge ego. Ludwig had daydreamed about fucking Gilbert, yeah, in every possible way, but hadn't exactly prepared himself for getting 'every possible way' during one session. That was a rough hour or two there in Gilbert's bathroom, and Gilbert wasn't the only bruised one when the water was finally turned off.

Sore as hell but smiling stupidly, Ludwig hauled himself halfway out of the tub, reaching out for a towel, and Gilbert suddenly griped, "You're paying my water bill this month."

"Like hell."

Gilbert got out, stretched and seemed very satisfied with himself as usual, and as Ludwig dried himself, Gilbert lifted a brow.

Ludwig knew he was up to something, and preemptively glared at him.

Up to something alright, because Gilbert suddenly beamed, and said, "Man! Let me tell Sigi you're gonna be living here with me." Eh—hey wait, he hadn't agreed to that just yet, but, ya know, if Gilbert wanted to then fuckin' sure, erhm— "He's gonna wanna give you a little kiss."

Ludwig straightened up, eyes wide and feeling clammy, as Gilbert leered.

"Don't you dare," he warned.

Gilbert was a piece of shit, he really was, and in a flash Gilbert had stalked out of the bathroom and into the living room, naked as he was, and he called, "Stay there, Lutz! I'm gonna bring him to you."

 _No_ —!

Ludwig scrambled out, as naked as Gilbert was, and it wasn't really his proudest moment, screeching and flailing as his apparent new boyfriend came charging at him with the product of his nightmares. Gilbert's soul-eating laugh, as he chased Ludwig all through the house, bird on his arm, bopping up and down happily, until Ludwig locked himself in Gilbert's bedroom.

Well. His now, too, by all rights.

Gilbert knocked on the door, and called, "Lutz! Come on! You kiss me, you kiss Sigi. That's the rule of the house."

"I'm burning the house down," Ludwig called back, and sat on the bed and pouted for a while.

It was kinda hard to stay mad at Gilbert, though, particularly when he was very interested in taking Gilbert's hands away from that bird and back on him, thanks a lot.

Gilbert was still smirking, stark naked yet when Ludwig opened the bedroom door. The bird, at least, had flown off in boredom, and Gilbert charged Ludwig immediately to tackle him to the bed.

Ludwig regretted every decision he had ever made in life.

Was kinda glad the pestilent avian had opened its mouth, though. Maybe. A little.

When they finished roughhousing and fell into a moment of stillness, Ludwig smirked again, and said, "You know, instead of punching poor Francis you coulda just told me."

Gilbert grunted, and muttered, "Nah. Gotta put all of your little admirers in place."

"All of?" Ludwig instantly asked, and Gilbert shook his head in exasperation. "Tell me, who else is there? I'd like to know."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, suddenly as possessive as his awful little bird, and said, very sternly, "Don't worry about it. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"The bird," Gilbert hissed, and Ludwig instantly submitted when Gilbert kissed him again and once more pinned him down.

Eh. Whatever.

That little shit couldn't run Ludwig off all these years, and wouldn't start now.

Guess they'd be sharing Gilbert for a long while.


	13. EOS (RusGer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : RusGer in marriage counseling. That is all.

**EOS**

Eduard had been a marriage counselor for a very long time.

He had seen everything there was to see (some things he really wished he hadn't), had seen the most awkward interactions of men and women and women and women and men and men.

He had had a woman take her wedding ring off right there on Eduard's couch and throw it into her husband's face.

He had had another woman come in holding a pair of lacey underwear, which she shook in Eduard's face and screeched, 'Does this look like _mine_? Do I look like I can fit into these?' ('No,' Eduard had droned without thinking, 'That's about a hundred kilo difference.' —that was the only time Eduard had ever been slapped.)

He had had one man throw his hands in the air and cry, 'Everyone in town is being ridden but _me_!'

He had had one woman point at her wife and accuse, 'She wants me to be my sister, I know it!'

He had had one man cross his arms huffily, as his husband behind him begged, 'I didn't mean it when I said that your friend was hot, this was twenty-two years ago, for god's sake!'

He had seen some things, but, oh man, the most difficult couple he had ever had, by far, had been Ludwig and Ivan.

Eduard was stubborn, determined, liked his job, but there were times when he sighed and wished that those two mules had never walked through his goddamn door.

He had known, somehow, the second he had laid eyes upon those two that he had his work cut out for him. They seemed rather standard on paper, as he had looked over the application and assumed this would be another normal day. Just two men that had had a falling out after ten years of marriage and wanted to seek a little advice. Ludwig was thirty-three. Ivan was forty-two. Men who had married young and now were having a crisis. A very normal application.

Eduard had seen the previous couple out, took a few minutes to chug a coffee and get his head back on, and had naively called Ludwig and Ivan in.

And oh, he hadn't known it then, but what a mistake he had made!

Ludwig came in first, and Eduard had observed him with a quirked brow. Ludwig was tall, pale, very handsome, and very well-built. The palest blue eyes Eduard had ever seen, and they were very piercing, very stern, very cold, pinning Eduard down the very second Ludwig had looked at him. Ludwig looked like a weightlifter, for sure, had that very condescending and haughty air of superiority about him. A big guy, strong and virile. He was dressed very nicely, though, in a professional button-down and tie, black slacks and shined shoes. Eduard had taken one look at Ludwig and thought that Ludwig was certainly the problematic half of this duo, the kinda guy that lived in the gym and was too handsome for his own good, one that was always flirted with and therefore a cause for insecurity in his partner. Eduard had already labeled Ludwig the 'problem' spouse.

But then Ivan had walked in.

Holy _shit_ —

Eduard had actually had to crane his neck a little bit to look up at Ivan, because if Eduard had thought that Ludwig was big then Ivan was _massive_. Ludwig suddenly looked far smaller when he stood next to Ivan, the top of Ludwig's head coming up to Ivan's shoulder. Ivan was less handsome than his partner, but about twice his size. Tawny hair, longer than Ludwig's and quite messy, pale grey eyes hooded and tired looking despite Ivan no doubt being wide awake. Ivan's features contrasted sharply with Ludwig's. Entirely opposite. Ivan's prominent and hooked nose was a far cry from Ludwig's straight bridge and upturned tip. Ivan's low cheeks, to Ludwig's high ones. Ivan's jaw was short, square, wide, to Ludwig's longer face. Ivan may not have been as gorgeous as his spouse, but he didn't need to be; with his size and that absurdly confident way he carried himself, face full of arrogance and chin high, expression condescending, Ivan was certainly eye-catching. He was wearing a wife-beater, cargo pants, sneakers, a very striking contrast to Ludwig's professional attire, and Eduard was pretty sure Ivan just liked showing off his enormous arms and chest. The man was an absolute tank, physically impressive, and yet also seemed very insufferable in many ways.

Eduard wasn't sure, suddenly, who the 'problem' spouse was.

Eduard glanced at Ludwig, then at Ivan, then at Ludwig, then at his couch, as he did quick math up in his head and made sure these two heavy piles of muscle wouldn't break the damn thing.

Eh. Shoulda been alright, the old Soviet piece of crap.

Eduard looked back and forth between big and bigger, sighed through his nose, and finally waved them over to the couch. They sat down, Eduard winced at the creak, the gap between them very pronounced, and Eduard sat down in front of them, unable to keep himself from raking them up and down.

Might have been in shock.

Wasn't everyday he had a pair of bodybuilders in his office.

As soon as they sat down, Ivan leaned back into the couch, big arms thrown behind his head arrogantly, one leg crossed over the over, practically oozing superiority, and Ludwig twisted a little at the waist, arms crossed over his chest and glaring off into nothing, lips pursed.

Hm. Alright.

Eduard's eyes trailed over Ivan's biceps and triceps, out on display as they were, and he immediately scribbled on his notepad, 'bigger is already attempting to assert dominance; big is annoyed.'

Ludwig was indeed annoyed, as he glared off at the wall and kept himself as far away from Ivan as possible, which wasn't easy because big-ass Ivan took up nearly the entire damn couch, splayed out as he was.

Eduard took a deep breath, smiled, and then said, as casually as possible, "Good afternoon. Ludwig. Ivan. So, what brings you two into my office today? I see we're having some tensions. Let's talk about it a little."

Ludwig sat back correctly, arms still crossed, and met Eduard's eyes.

When Ludwig opened his mouth to speak, however, Ivan cut him off to say, in a very pretty, soft, breathy voice that did not at all match that scary man, "I just want you to make him stop nagging me."

Eduard, pen on paper and scribbling effortlessly without even looking down, watched as Ludwig snapped his intense gaze over to his husband and barked, to Eduard, "I just want you to give me reasons why I shouldn't murder him."

Ludwig's voice was very deep, very gruff, guttural and rumbling, yet another contrast to his partner. Eduard felt like Ivan and Ludwig's voices should have been switched, from the look of them. It was kinda funny.

Ivan scoffed, very derisively, and grunted under his breath, "I'd like to see you try."

Ludwig's pale face was very red from anger, and Eduard was silent for a moment.

Should have put some rum in his coffee.

Ludwig's posture was very tense, very stiff, yet again at odds with Ivan's lofty and arrogant posture of effortlessness and confidence.

It was pretty clear for Eduard to see that both of them were the 'problem' spouse, and that happened fairly commonly. Ludwig seemed like a very high-strung housewife, whereas Ivan would be the condescending and insensitive husband. A 'king of the castle' sort of man, and naturally that would have frequently ruffled Ludwig's perfectly preened feathers.

Eduard asked, although he already knew, "How long have you two been married?"

"Ten long years," Ivan answered.

"Ten _very_ long years," Ludwig added.

Ivan was still splayed out, the hair under his arms sticking out from beneath his shirt, chest hair poking out at the top, and his head turned in Ludwig's direction, the sneer spreading across his face without any effort at all to hide it.

Ludwig was staring at Eduard, so piercingly that Eduard felt the need to squirm.

"And how long have you been together?"

"Eleven," they answered in unison.

Eduard nodded, and quipped, "You married very quickly. You must have been very in love."

Normally in this circumstance one spouse would grunt, 'Or really stupid', and Eduard waited but neither of them said anything. That might have been a good sign.

They may actually have been very much in love, but both of them seemed quite passionate and sometimes that wasn't a good thing.

A love-hate marriage, perhaps.

"That's great. Here's the deal. We're going to just talk today, figure some things out, and then I'll give you two a little homework to work on until next week. Alright? Good. So, how long have we been having this tension?"

"Always," Ludwig quickly uttered, before Ivan could cut him off again, "Since day one. He's always been this way."

"I'm only this way because you make me this way," Ivan grumbled, his crossed leg falling back down to the floor. "You're enough to drive any man up the wall. How do you want me to be?"

"I've already told you," Ludwig snapped, as he turned his eyes once more to Ivan.

Ivan sat up straight at last, arms falling to his sides as he twisted to stare at Ludwig.

"You tell me a lot of things!" Ivan retorted. "Every day. How the hell am I supposed to keep up with it all? From the minute I wake up until the minute I go to sleep, you're always telling me _something_! Come on, _baby_ , I can only listen to so much before I zone out, half the time you're just bitching at me anyway."

Ludwig bristled up, angrily, and shot back, "You _never_ listen! I don't ask for much! If I'm bitching at you, then just assume you deserve it! If you would just listen—"

You know what? Fuck it.

Eduard stood up very abruptly, went over to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out his bottle of rum, dumped some into a glass, and walked right back to his chair as if nothing had happened. Was pretty sure Ludwig was glaring at him, but could hardly be bothered to care.

Ivan's grey eyes were glaring holes through Ludwig as potently as Ludwig was glaring them through Eduard, as Ivan stared at his spouse, who refused to turn to him and give him the time of day. Ludwig's chin was high, prim, face full of disdain, and Eduard took a sip, settled down for the show, and cleared his throat.

"So, Ivan. Why do you think Ludwig is always nagging you?"

Ivan threw his enormous arms in the air, and said, loudly, "I don't know! I don't know what I'm doing wrong! I can't do _anything_! No matter what I do, it irritates him. He's like an angry princess. I go out, angry princess. I come back, angry princess. I call him to tell him where I am, angry princess. I _don't_ call him, angry princess! No matter what I do! I can't win. He's worse than a Russian woman! I'm supposed to say 'sorry' and kiss his ass, even if I don't know what I'm saying 'sorry' for, but even when I do, he's still pissed off because _then_ I'm being _condescending_."

Ludwig snapped his head over, cheeks red and nostrils flared, and retorted, "You _are_ condescending! You treat me like I'm five!" Ludwig changed his voice into a higher pitch, derisive, clearly an unflattering imitation of Ivan, and chirped, "'Oh, it's all in your head, baby!' 'Yeah, yeah, I was listening, really.' 'I swear I'm taking you seriously.' 'Oh, that's no one, don't be silly.' 'Oh, yeah, that's my sister—'"

"That _is_ my sister!" Ivan cried, hands outstretched and fingers curled up as if he were about to strange the life out of Ludwig. "We've been married for ten years, you know goddamn well that that's my _sister_!"

Ludwig made his voice higher yet, and said, with disgust, "'Vanya!' 'Oh, Vanya, there you are, I'm so happy to see you, you're so handsome.' 'Vanya, do you still think I'm pretty?' 'Oh, Vanya, I miss you so much when we're apart!' 'Vanya, I wish we were always together!' 'Vanya!' 'Vanya!'"

Eduard watched them go at it, two huge, fully grown men mimicking the other like grade-schoolers, and around that time Eduard's pen had stopped forming real words and was just running in circles instead.

When Ludwig stopped imitating Ivan's 'sister', Ivan was the one to imitate Ludwig, by forcing his voice to be gruff and low, crossing his arms over his chest prissily, lifting and lowering his shoulders in turn, and saying, haughtily, "'I don't want your excuses, I want you to tell me the truth.' 'I don't care if you have a birth certificate, there's no way that's your sister.' 'Oh! Lifting heavy again, are we, showing off, are we, trying to impress someone, are we? Who, because it's not me!' 'Why can't you just ever do what I tell you to do?'"

Ludwig interrupted, to shout, "Why can't you?"

"I do!" Ivan screeched right back. "I do everything you want! It still doesn't make you happy! Nothing I ever do is good enough!"

"Because you never _listen_ —"

"Well what about _you_?" Ivan suddenly accused, eyes wide and brow low, looking positively livid, veins in his neck and forehead very visible. "You're the one always _flirting_ , not me! You and fuckin' Gilbert! I can't ever get you away from him! Every time I call, who are you with? Gilbert. Who's always knocking on our door? Gilbert. Who do you run crying to every time we fight? Gilbert. Who still stays over sometimes and _sleeps in your bed_? Gilbert. Who kisses you on the lips to say goodbye? _Gilbert_. You've kissed him more times in ten years than you have _me_!"

Eduard really wished he had some popcorn suddenly, and took a long swig of rum.

Fascinating.

"That's my brother!" Ludwig retorted, face redder than ever.

Ivan pointed his finger in Ludwig's face, not touching him but coming very close, as he cried, "You're _adopted_! That's _not_ your brother! Don't you sit here and tell me that's _normal_!"

Ludwig slapped Ivan's finger away to point his own instead, and they went at it for a little while, each slapping away the other's hand as they hissed and spit like angry cats.

"Natalia kisses you on the lips, _too_ , you _bastard_! And when she stays over, you walk right into the bathroom to shave while she's taking a shower!"

"We grew up together! She's my actual _sister_! Why does Gilbert, who is _not_ your actual _brother_ , get to sleep in the bed _naked_ with you? Huh? Tell me that!"

"Because we grew up together—"

... _and_ this was _absolutely_ the last couple of the day.

As Ivan and Ludwig spat at each other, Eduard picked up the phone on the end table beside of him, and said to the receptionist, "Cancel all my other appointments today. We're closing early."

The angry couple on the couch before him didn't even seem to be aware that Eduard was there at all anymore.

In fact, they just kept at it for the next seventeen minutes, poking fingers in each other's chests and faces, cheeks red and very ruffled, completely in their own dysfunctional universe.

And then, just as randomly, they suddenly fell very still, turned away from each other, and back to Eduard.

Eduard looked back and forth between them, pen scribbling mindlessly, and there was a very long silence as Eduard's brain momentarily short-circuited.

Finally, Ivan crossed his huge arms and crankily griped, "Well? What do you have to say?"

Ludwig was glaring holes into Eduard's wall again.

Pen still scratching away, Eduard finally opened his mouth, and grunted, "Sometimes, maybe we _should_ consider divorce."

Ivan huffed, Ludwig gave a deep snarl of frustration that sounded very much like the terrifying growl of a wolf, and Eduard was very quick to clear his throat and change tune.

"That said... I'll see you two next week. If you could not kill each other until then, that would be ideal."

Ludwig finally turned his very piercing eyes to Eduard, and asked, "What's your advice until then? Aren't we supposed to have that 'homework'?"

Ivan's lip curled as he very openly sneered.

"Yes," Eduard quickly said, as he stood up and walked to the door. " _That_ was the homework. Not killing each other was the homework."

He held open the door, very pointedly, and Ludwig lifted his chin snootily, gave a very prim noise of disdain and offense, and pulled himself gracefully to his feet, stalking through the door with his head held high as if he were, indeed, an angry princess.

Ivan huffily stomped after him, feet very heavy on the floor, and Eduard had never been happier to slam the door shut.

He went over, threw himself on the couch, and ran his hands over his face.

Oh, man...

Was not looking forward to this one.

* * *

Eight days later, those two bulls were back on Eduard's couch.

Session two.

This time, things were very different, and Eduard immediately noticed that they were sitting up against each other, no gap between them. Eduard would have been glad about it, if he hadn't known that these extremely volatile men were just in one of their 'good' days. He had seen this a hundred times, and before the end of today's session they would once more be at each other's throats.

Ivan lifted up one of his huge arms and rested it over Ludwig's shoulders, and Ludwig leaned up against Ivan quite happily, eyes much less cold and face less stern.

Not an angry princess yet.

Eduard sighed, sat down, and began, "So! How are we feeling today? Did we have any good conversations with each other?"

Ivan smiled, easily, and gave Ludwig a shake.

"Yup! I think we got a lot of stress out last time."

Eduard lifted a droll brow, looking back and forth between them, and Ludwig rested his hand atop Ivan's thigh, offering, "We've been trying to stay calm. He's been listening a little better."

Ivan glanced over, brow twitching, and Eduard could see how condescendingly he was gazing at Ludwig. Like a king looking at a peasant, alright, eyes lidded and lip curled.

Here we go.

Sure enough, Ivan lowered his voice, and grunted, "Well. I don't think I'm doing anything different than I ever have. I always listened."

Ludwig's pale eyes narrowed, sharpened, and Eduard watched as Ludwig withdrew his hand from Ivan's thigh, face already steely.

A low mutter.

"That's news to me."

Ivan sat up straighter, and removed his arm from Ludwig's shoulders.

"Here we go again," Ivan snipped, saying very much what Eduard was thinking. "Every time we're doing well, you have to go and ruin it."

"I'm not ruining it!" Ludwig retorted, as he scooted over and away from Ivan. "You are! Why do you have to speak to me like that? I'm your husband, not your child!"

Once more, the two melted down, as Eduard scribbled away in a daze.

This was going to be a hard one, and Eduard could easily see the uphill battle.

Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. This time, they weren't stopping, were still snitting at each other, and so Eduard finally had to clear his throat and say, loudly, "Settle down, now!"

They turned their heads at the same time to glare at Eduard, and Ludwig threw his hands in the air with a snarl of annoyance, as Ivan sneered.

"Clearly we have a lot to work through here. So. Here's the homework I have for you this week. I want you to go home, and if it's possible, I want you to sleep in separate beds. Every night, before you go to sleep, sit down, and write down one thing about each other that you like. Just one thing. It's not that hard. One thing a night, for a week. Bring them in to me next week. Alright?"

They nodded, crankily, and Eduard shooed them out.

Eduard glanced down at his notes after they had left, and rolled his eyes at himself, because all he had written down was, 'Ivan = condescending king, Ludwig = angry princess, Gilbert = absolutely only a brother, Natalia = totally Ivan's sister.'

Useful.

* * *

Session three.

Eduard held his hand out, and Ludwig slapped his paper down in Eduard's palm, and then Ivan did the same.

Eduard read them, and removed his glasses to run a hand wearily over his eyes.

Ludwig's list had seven lines, and each of them read, 'I cannot think of anything.'

Ivan's list had two lines, the first of which read, 'He's hot', the second of which read, 'He's hot', and then the rest of the page was blank, because apparently Ivan couldn't come up with anything else.

Eduard contemplated banging his forehead on his own desk, but went for his rum instead.

The next step in therapy was splitting them up and talking to them alone, because that was the only way they could focus on not ripping the throat out of the other.

First up was Ivan.

Eduard shooed Ludwig back into the waiting room, and when he had Ivan alone, Eduard wasted absolutely no time in getting straight to the point.

Eduard scribbled away, and then asked, abruptly, "So, Ivan. Why are you so threatened by Gilbert?"

Ivan bristled up immediately, squared his shoulders and thrust out his chest, trying to make himself look even bigger than he already was for some ridiculous reason. Ivan lifted his chin and said, very sternly, "I'm _not_ threatened by Gilbert."

Eduard stared at Ivan, drolly, and internally rolled his eyes.

As Ivan attempted to assert his dominance over a man who was not even there, Eduard changed the subject and said, "Tell me about Ludwig, Ivan."

At that, Ivan had no hesitation.

"He's the prissiest goddamn man I've ever met. He nags me more than a wife ever could. He's smart, too smart, and he likes to rub it in. He thinks he's too good for me. He's crazy, totally crazy. Paranoid. I can't go anywhere or do anything or talk to anyone, because then he's sure I'm cheating on him. He's always constantly correcting me. He drives me up the wall, completely. He makes me crazy. All we do is argue, I swear, all day long. Everything I say he disagrees with. I think he does it on purpose to make me mad. He's like a goddamn drill sergeant! Every day, at four in the morning, he wakes up and starts cleaning the kitchen, and if I wake up late, then I'm lazy. If I stay up too late, I must be thinking of someone else. And then there's the chastising! Oh, god, the chastising! Why am I so messy, why am I always late, why am I going out so much, why am I throwing my dirty clothes in the corner of the room instead of in the hamper, why am I tracking dirt into the house—"

Eduard zoned out, as Ivan kept on for several more angry minutes.

After Ivan's tirade had ended, Eduard pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked a bit, and then said, tiredly, "Alright. Okay. Now. Can you tell me something... _nice_ about Ludwig?"

"Not off the top of my head," Ivan drawled, and Eduard was the one to lid his eyes and stare at Ivan quite condescendingly.

"Really think about it," Eduard grumbled, and Ivan sighed.

At that, Ivan was momentarily silent, grimacing away and brow very low, lips pushed out crankily. Ivan was silent for a very long time, as Eduard tapped his pen on his pad and waited.

Finally, after apparently a long struggle, Ivan reluctantly grumbled, "Well. The angry sex is phenomenal. Really. I swear sometimes that's the only reason I put up with him."

At Eduard's deadly serious expression, Ivan backtracked.

"Well. You know. Hm... He's... Well. He makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world."

There was something!

Sure enough, after a minute of awkward settling, Ivan's expression shifted, softened, because quite nostalgic, as Ivan was finally able to tap into whatever adoring sentiments he clearly held for Ludwig.

Without prompting, Ivan suddenly added, "He's beautiful. Everything about him. Sometimes, when he's around, I feel like I can't even breathe. The first time I ever saw him, I swear it was like I got hit by lightning. I couldn't stop staring at him. I've never met anyone like him. He's so smart. He's very stern, but at the same time, he's so... I don't know, it's just, he cares about everyone so much. He doesn't show it that well, but it's so easy to see. He does a lot of volunteer work. He's a marrow donor. He feeds stray animals. He's just...perfect. Really. I love him so much."

Eduard smiled a little, and asked, "What do you feel every time you two fight?"

Ivan leaned back in the couch, and ran both of his hands through his hair, as he uttered, "It feels like I'm dying. I can't stand it! I can't. I don't ever mean to make him cry, I really don't. I hate it every time it happens. I'd rather jump off a cliff than ever make him cry. It's just— I don't know. He's my entire universe, you know? If he ever left for good, I think I would just crawl under the blanket and cry until I died. I can't even imagine what I'd do if he wasn't there. I just want to be with him every minute."

Eduard smiled at enormous, pining Ivan, fondly, and scribbled away.

Next up was Ludwig.

Eduard adjusted his glasses and asked, very randomly so as to startle Ludwig, "What about Natalia bothers you so much, Ludwig? Why do you think she is a threat to you?"

Ludwig bristled out like Ivan had, lifted his chin, crossed his arms, trying to appear prim and unbothered, and said, simply, "She's not!"

Mm-hm.

Eduard again changed the subject, and said, "Tell me about Ivan."

The tirade quickly came.

"He's insufferable! The most obnoxious, arrogant, condescending, bullheaded, stubborn, irritating man I've ever met in my life! I didn't even know that they could make men this goddamn annoying, but here we are! He's pompous, strutting around like he owns the world. You'd think he was a damn emperor, the way he looks down on everyone. He acts like I'm a dumb little kid. He talks to me as if I were too stupid to know how to live without him. He does it on purpose, I know he does, just to irritate me. And he's so possessive! I can't talk to anyone, I can't even look at someone, because then he starts a fight! I can't even tell you how many times I've had to go pick him up from some jail. He thinks he owns me. I swear, one of these days I'm going to wake up with his damn name branded on my back! He's just—"

Ludwig let out a very deep snarl of frustration, as Eduard again zoned out.

A long minute of rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Eduard sighed, "Now can you tell me something _good_ about Ivan?"

Just like with Ivan, Ludwig was quiet for a very long time, and seemed quite cranky and reluctant. Ludwig tapped his foot, arms yet crossed over his chest and face very angry, and seemed to be very deep in thought.

Finally, Ludwig just grunted, "He's very good in bed. That's it."

Eduard gave Ludwig 'the look', and waited.

Ludwig squirmed, shifted, looked very awkward and vulnerable, and then sighed.

Again, just as with Ivan, Ludwig's face very abruptly softened. A hint of a smile, as his pale eyes crinkled a little and became less cold.

"Well. He's...very protective. He's charming, when he tries to be. He's very romantic. He loves being a family-man. He's brave. Funny. He's everything I'm not. He walks out the door and everyone sort of drifts over to him, because he's so personable. He's the social butterfly, I guess. He's smart, too, good with his hands. He's always going around, trying to help people. He's handsome, isn't he? I could stare at him forever. He's the only person that's ever made me feel like I'm important. All the things he'd say—no one had ever talked to me like that before. When he's there, I feel...safe. I love everything about him."

Eduard snorted, as frosty Ludwig warmed up just a bit, defenses falling steadily as he remembered all of the things he loved about his infuriating spouse.

"And how do you feel when you and Ivan fight, Ludwig? How does that make you feel?"

Ludwig ran his palms over his face, slowly, stance so tense and tight, and it was a long while before he grunted, "I feel like the world ends. Every time he's not around, it's like... I don't know. It seems so dark. He's the only thing that ever makes me feel happy, so when he's not there, it really does feel like the world is ending. I don't mean to make him mad. It's not what I'm trying to do, really, I just— I'm so scared of him _leaving_."

Eduard smiled at awkward Ludwig as fondly as he had Ivan, and felt the first true twinges of hope for these stubborn asses.

When Eduard brought them back together shortly after, they were still clinging to that happy air of nostalgia, and went contently home. Eduard knew better, and waited to see if they would both be alive next week.

* * *

Session four.

Eduard separated them again, and forced them each in turn to lie down on the couch.

He started with Ivan, and when Ivan was on his back, hands clasped upon his abdomen and staring up at the ceiling, Eduard asked him, "Ivan, why does the relationship between Gilbert and Ludwig bother you so much?"

Ivan's brow furrowed, and he said, "I don't know. Everything about it just irks me. They're just—! Is that normal? Do you think that's normal? Do you think it's normal for a thirty-three-year-old man to run crying into his big _brother's_ arms because I hurt his feelings? Do you think it's normal for a thirty-three-year-old man to sleep in the bed with his fuckin' _brother_ , who, might I add, is _naked_ , because we got into a fight and I have to sleep on the couch?"

Eduard stared at Ivan, and asked, "Do you think Gilbert is handsome?"

Ivan snapped his head over, and sputtered, "N- _no_! Absolutely _not_. Ugly son of a bitch, that albino jackass, he's not all that, the jerk—"

That meant 'yes, Gilbert is very handsome'. Clearly Ivan was threatened by that, despite his declarations otherwise.

"Do you think Gilbert is more handsome than you?"

Ivan squirmed a little, scoffed, and grumbled, "Nah. ...I mean. I don't know. Maybe. Who cares?"

"So, you're worried that Ludwig thinks that Gilbert is more attractive than you?"

"I didn't say that."

"Do you?"

"...no."

That was a lie if ever he heard one.

"But you think that their relationship borders on being inappropriate, because you do think that Ludwig thinks Gilbert is handsome?"

Ivan looked extremely uncomfortable, and shrugged a noncommittal shoulder.

Eduard redirected.

"Do you think Natalia is pretty?"

Ivan's chest puffed out in pride, arrogance, and he immediately drawled, "Of course she's pretty. She's beautiful. She's perfect."

Uh-huh.

"You two had a very close relationship growing up?"

"Yeah. Our parents died when we were young, so it was always just us. She's more like my mother, I guess."

"Is she older than you?"

"Just by a year."

"So you two did everything together. Is she married?"

Ivan shook his head.

"Are you worried that she's not married?"

"Kind of. I want to make sure someone is taking care of her, ya know, because I always did it. But at the same time, I also kinda want to murder every man that looks at her. I can't stand thinking of some other guy in there. Like, because then she'll love him more than me, you know? I hate that."

"So you'd rather keep her to yourself?"

Ivan paused, shifted, and lost his voice.

Eduard had Ivan on the ropes, and enjoyed every single second of it.

"Do you think the relationship between Ludwig and Gilbert upsets you so much because it possibly reminds you of the relationship between you and Natalia?"

Ivan sputtered again, turned his head sideways to look over at Eduard, and after a long second of open-mouthed staring, Ivan asked, "Are you— Are you saying I wanna fuck my _sister_?"

Eduard replied, as he suppressed a smirk, "I did _not_ say that."

Ivan sat up, and said, very ardently, "I do _not_ wanna fuck my _sister_!"

* * *

"So, Ludwig, why does the relationship between Ivan and Natalia bother you so much?"

Ludwig, lying back and eyes running over the ceiling, hands clasped above his chest, muttered, "Because she's always hovering over him. Always. She's so—! I dunno. She's just so weird with him. The way she kisses him, and runs her hands all over him. It's just... I swear, she wants to get rid of me. It's like she wants him all to herself. It's creepy."

Eduard readied his pen, and asked, "Do you think Natalia is pretty?"

"No," Ludwig immediately snapped, before he sputtered and then quickly amended, "Well. Yes. A little. Kind of. Yes. Yes. She's pretty. She's—" A noise of frustration. "She's _so_ pretty! She's so pretty, why is she so pretty? It's not fair. She's so pretty. I hate it."

"Do you think she's more attractive, in comparison, than you?"

Ludwig crinkled his brow, and bitterly grumbled, "Yeah."

"And you worry that Ivan loves her more than you?"

Ludwig nodded.

"And you also think that their relationship is more intimate than it should be?"

Again, Ludwig nodded.

Eduard eyed Ludwig for a moment, and then said, "Ivan says he is one hundred percent homosexual. So you disagree with that?"

Ludwig scoffed, and grumbled, bitterly, "Coulda fooled me, the way he's always kissing her on the lips."

"But you kiss Gilbert on the lips."

Ludwig sent Eduard a glare, and bitched, "That's different!"

Right. Sure.

"Ludwig, when did you learn that you were adopted?"

"I've always known, since before I can remember. It was never a secret."

Eduard nodded, glanced up, and surmised, "So, you grew up knowing that you and Gilbert were not biological siblings."

Ludwig nodded away.

Eduard suppressed another smirk, and asked, "Do you think Gilbert is handsome?"

Ludwig turned his head to look at Eduard, and seemed caught off guard.

A hesitation, and then Ludwig grumbled, nervously, "Well, yeah. I mean. Yeah. He's very handsome. "

"How much older is Gilbert than you?"

"Ten years older."

"So Ivan's age. What is Gilbert's sexuality?"

Ludwig's cheeks were steadily reddening, to Eduard's delight, and there was another hesitation before Ludwig grumbled, "Why does that matter?"

"It's just a part of therapy. Come now. What's Gilbert's sexuality?"

"He's bisexual," Ludwig finally muttered, voice so low then that it could have been mistaken for a car backfiring below on the street, and Eduard was squirming then from utter delight.

Loved making these assholes uncomfortable.

Ludwig looked mortified, terrified, and Eduard was silent for a while to drag out that terror before he asked, abruptly, "Did you have a crush on Gilbert growing up?"

Ludwig's red face suddenly paled, his eyes flew open wide, his jaw clamped, and Eduard could see him swallow nervously.

A cold sweat on his brow.

Eduard bit his bottom lip, trying so hard to suppress his gleeful sneer as Ludwig attempted to sink down into the couch and disappear.

After eternity, there was a very weak, gruff mutter.

"I was thirteen. He was twenty-three. He'd been gone for a year because he was in the navy, I hadn't seen him in forever, and he looked so different and I was confused—it was nothing. It was just a little crush, that was all, it really was nothing."

Ludwig looked completely petrified, and Eduard was elated.

He struggled very hard to not let his voice shake when he asked, "Do you think the relationship between Natalia and Ivan upsets you so much because it reminds you of the relationship between you and Gilbert?"

Ludwig bolted upright at the waist, palms on the couch for balance, and he gazed at Eduard in nothing short of absolute horror.

"I'm— No! I'm not— I'm not in love with Gilbert, I'm _not_!"

Eduard leered.

* * *

Ivan slammed his fist down on the arm of the couch, and cried, "Really! I'm serious! I do _not_ want to fuck my sister! Honest to god, what the fuck is the matter with you?"

Eduard's tongue poked out as he scribbled away Ivan's rant, glancing up frequently to see the red-faced bastard gawking at him.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Eduard liked this job. It was nice to torment people, sometimes, and it would give Eduard evil satisfaction to think of huge Ivan standing in front of the mirror that night in dread and asking himself, 'Do I wanna fuck my sister?'

Once more, Eduard just uttered, "I didn't say that. I haven't said that. You're the one saying it. Why do you think you need to say it so many times, Ivan?"

Ivan's eyes widened in horror, and his voice was shrill and cracking when he actually screamed, " _I DO NOT WANT TO FUCK MY SISTER!"_

* * *

"Do you still have a crush on Gilbert?"

Ludwig sat up, swung his legs over the couch, and screeched, "No! Absolutely not! I told you already! I was thirteen! That was all! I was thirteen, for god's sake, I do not wanna sleep with my brother, knock it off!"

Eduard smiled, trying to hide his face with his notepad.

"It's just a question," Eduard squeaked, as he tried so hard to keep a straight face. "There's no need to get upset. ...why _are_ you upset?"

Ludwig bolted upright off the couch, arms straight out at his sides, bristled up to high heaven, and he screamed, powerfully, deep voice booming and harsh, " _I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER_!"

* * *

Session five.

Ivan was crying on the couch, alternating between burying his face in his hands and looking at Eduard between sobs, to wheeze, "I thought—we were gonna—be _happy_!"

Ivan bawled away, as Eduard chewed on the tip of his pen to suppress his smile.

Ivan's huge hands concealed his face as his shoulders shook dramatically, his hair messy and sticking out in every direction. Every so often there was a cry, a wail, or a cough, as passionate Ivan broke down there on the couch in a fit of lovesickness.

Eduard tapped his pen on the notepad, and then asked, "What are you feeling right now, Ivan?"

Ivan looked up over his hands, grey eyes scrunched and bleary and miserable, and he wailed, "I wanna _die_ , I love him so _much_ — Why can't we be happy?"

Ivan suddenly stood up, marched over, and the next thing Eduard knew Ivan's massive arms were locked around his neck as Ivan sobbed away with no restraint into his shoulder.

Eduard reached up, patted Ivan's back, and sneered.

* * *

Session six.

Ludwig was stomping around in circles, arms waving dramatically in the air as he ranted.

"—and then he said, _no_ , he _didn't_ wanna go see my family for Christmas, because _Gilbert_ would be there. And of course if Gilbert is there, then I would forget _he_ existed, he'd get drunk and start screaming, and then I would start screaming, and then he would start crying, and then Gilbert would start screaming, and if Gilbert started screaming then _I_ would start crying, and if I started crying then Ivan would start screaming again, and then Ivan and Gilbert would get into a fistfight—again—and then I would run out of the house, and then Ivan would say that I ran out because I love Gilbert more than him and that I always take Gilbert's side, even though Ivan started the whole damn thing by getting drunk in the _first_ place—"

Ludwig took an extremely deep breath, as slack-jawed Eduard watched him in utter amazement, and then he opened his mouth and started right back up.

"—and so then, on our honeymoon, he thought the scuba diving instructor was hitting on me and so he strangled him with his own oxygen cable, punched him in the face, and then threw him overboard his own goddamn boat, and then when I got him out of jail, he didn't like the way the bellboy in the hotel looked at me so he tried to start another fight, and I had to literally drag my husband down the hall and into the elevator because some poor seventeen-year-old Japanese kid told me he liked my hair—"

* * *

Session seven.

Eduard brought Ivan and Ludwig together, stood them before each other, and told them to pretend that they were back in the day they had met the first time. To recreate that spark, to find out what had drawn them together.

Eduard said, "Come now, show me your love story! What was the first day like?"

They stared at each other through narrowed eyes, and Ivan reluctantly instigated by holding his arms out at his sides and grunting, with perhaps a bit of embarrassment, "Hey, baby. That was a good barbell thrust. Wanna go have a private lesson so I can show you mine?"

Eduard pinched the bridge of his nose again, and bit down his sigh.

Ludwig drawled, so blandly and sarcastically, "Wow. I've never heard _that_ one before. But your form is great, so I would love a private lesson."

Ivan, probably very humiliated at having to reenact a cheesy pickup line in front of a marriage counselor, grumbled, "Yeah, cool. I'm sure you haven't already gotten one from your 'brother'."

Ludwig lifted his chin and so primly retorted, "You would know about receiving a private lesson from a 'sibling'."

Eduard threw his notepad aside, removed his glasses, and buried his face wearily in his hands.

* * *

Session eight.

Ivan was lying back on the couch, hands clasped above his chest, staring up at the ceiling as he blabbered away.

"—but I don't see how _I_ was the one in the wrong. I only punched Gilbert because, I mean, what the hell is a guy supposed to think, when his husband comes back home at four in the morning, drunk as hell and with his arm wrapped around another guy?"

Eduard glanced up, and offered, "That it was his birthday and he was drinking with his brother?"

Ivan blinked, sputtered, waved his hand in the air, and grumbled, "Well—! You know what, that's not the point! The point isn't that I punched Gilbert, the point is that he was _mad_ at me after. It wasn't my fault! Anyway, shouldn't he have been, I dunno, impressed? I mean, it's not that I was hopin' he'd jump in my arms and say 'my hero', or anything, but I was _kinda_ hopin'—"

Eduard stood up, and went for his bottle of rum.

"—shouldn't he be flattered? I work so hard to show off to him, and it's like he doesn't even care! I defended his honor against this totally creepy scuba diving instructor on our honeymoon, and when he came to get me out of jail he looked more annoyed than anything! Can you believe that?"

Ivan suddenly stood up, and put his hand on a thrust out hip, other hand waving in the air, and it was very clear he was imitating Ludwig.

"'Oh, look what you've gotten yourself into! It's our honeymoon and here you are, in a Japanese jail!'"

Ivan suddenly started walking back and forth across the room, flamboyantly, hips swaying provocatively and one hand still prissily out of his side.

"But he walks like this all over the place, like a goddamn vixen, trying to seduce everyone! He knows I'm jealous, but he does it anyway, because he likes the attention. He won't admit it, but he does it on purpose. He knows I hate it when other guys look at him, but still he goes swaying down the street with the bedroom eyes!"

Eduard didn't claim to be a Ludwig expert, but he was absolutely, entirely certain that Ludwig did _not_ walk like that, nor did he ever wave his hand in the air like a flirty teenage girl. He was pretty sure that this was entirely a figment of Ivan's extremely jealous imagination.

But it was hilarious to watch all the same, as that huge mountain of a man tried to walk and act so prissy and prim.

"And then he does this thing, where he's like—" Ivan suddenly stuck his hip out farther than ever, one leg locked out straight and the other bent, and Ivan raised his hand up and ran it very slowly and seductively through his own hair, biting his bottom lip "—just like that!"

Eduard had seen Ludwig's hair come loose during one session, and Ludwig had very nondescriptly reached up and smoothed it back. That action seemed much more sultry in Ivan's imitation, and Eduard snorted.

Everything Ludwig did mesmerized Ivan apparently, and he must have thought that the rest of the world saw it that way too, even though Eduard could very easily say he was absolutely not seduced by Ludwig merely fixing his hair, and he was pretty sure Ludwig had not bitten his lip while doing so.

Eduard was silent for a moment, staring away at mimicking Ivan, and then asked, "Have you ever considered that this is entirely in your head and that maybe you're just being possessive?"

Ivan fell still, raised a hand to his chin pensively, seemed deep in thought, and then waved it off.

"Nah—he's a tease, I'm telling you, he tries to rile me up, he likes it when I punch other men, I know he does, he's askin' for it—"

Eduard poured another glass of rum.

* * *

Session nine.

Ludwig was curled up in a ball on the couch, face buried in the pillow and bawling his eyes out, sobbing so powerfully that his shoulders were shaking and he coughed.

Eduard stirred his coffee mindlessly, chin in palm as he stared at caterwauling Ludwig, who lifted his head from time to time to whine.

"—he said that he—h-he'd always b-be there for me, but he wasn't there all day, on our tenth a-anniversary." Ludwig hiccoughed, he was crying so hard, and he struggled to breathe as he briefly met Eduard's eyes. "H-he left me alone, for _her_! Her! He's _my_ husband, not hers!"

Eduard took a sip of his coffee, and then said, offhandedly, "Do you think it had anything to do with him driving hours out of the country to pick her up because she was stranded on the side of the road in a broken car? Because, you know. She's his sister?"

Ludwig wailed.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Ludwig was no longer bawling, and instead was stalking around the room, eyes puffy and red, voice very nasally as he griped, "—and then he started flexing! He's always flexing, always. He's always showing off. Every time someone looks at him, he stops what he's doing and starts flexing. One time, there was a new guy in the gym, some other blond jerk, and Ivan went right up to him and was all, 'Oh, hey, you need some help, I can show you.' And then he got right behind him, all up against him, and showed him how to deadlift. I had to stand there and watch _my_ husband put his crotch right up against some new guy's ass, and what, I'm not supposed to be annoyed? I can't even talk to anyone without Ivan punching them in the face, but oh, _I'm_ crazy for being upset that Ivan was 'just trying to be helpful'. That guy was probably a slut, anyway, the jerk, I was glad when he stopped coming, but then Ivan still goes around town 'helping out'. He stops every time he sees someone broken down or carrying something and tries to jump in. He says he just likes _helping_ , but I know he's just trying to show off and flirt!"

Ludwig rubbed irritably at his red eyes, as Eduard watched him pacing back and forth, back and forth, and Eduard asked, "Do you think maybe you're just being possessive?"

Ludwig wailed, " _No_!" and then buried his face in his hands, bursting once more into tears.

Eduard smiled away, doodling on his notepad little stick figures of Ludwig raising hell as Ivan 'helpfully' molded into another guy in the gym.

Ah...

It was vacation time.

* * *

Session ten.

Eduard brought the two together again, and this time hoped he would actually get somewhere. Now that both of them had broken down and cried puddles onto Eduard's couch, he was fairly confident in where they stood.

Ivan and Ludwig were sitting once more pressed up against the other, and that was hopeful.

Eduard looked them over, and asked, "How are we feeling today? Ivan?"

Ivan looked over at Ludwig, smiled, and then offered, "I feel better, really. I don't even feel like arguing."

"Ludwig?"

Ludwig looked Ivan up and down, coolly, face quite soft as he said, "I'm happy."

Good.

At last, Eduard said to them, "I think we're coming to a head here. I believe we need to say a few things to each other."

He waved his hands in the air, they stood up, and Eduard came up before them.

This time, he pulled out all of his frazzled and crumpled notes, as Ludwig and Ivan stared at each other, and adjusted his glasses.

He glanced up at Ludwig, and said, as he read from a paper, "So, Ludwig. During one of our sessions, you said that Ivan was the only person that had ever made you feel like you were important." A blaze of red to Ludwig's face, as he quickly dropped his head, and Ivan turned to stare over at Ludwig with an expression that could have been shock. "You said that it was like the world was ending, whenever you two fought and Ivan left. Because he was the only thing that ever really made you happy."

Ludwig shifted his weight, anxiously, and Eduard quickly turned his gaze to Ivan.

"Ivan, you said to me that every time you two fight, it feels like you're dying, because he's the entire universe to you and losing him would have been the end of you." Ivan ran a hand nervously through his messy hair, cracking his neck a little. "You told me that if he ever left, you'd crawl under the blankets and cry until you died."

A long, heavy silence.

Ludwig stared at the floor, arms crossed over his chest defensively, and Ivan averted his gazed as he rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck. After a long while, Ivan started glancing over at Ludwig, over and over again, and Eduard waited.

Steadily, Ivan's big hand fell back down to his side, he turned his body very slowly until he was completely facing Ludwig, and his face softened. His brow came up, his eyes lidded, his lips twitched, and Eduard watched very hopefully as Ivan suddenly reached out and grabbed Ludwig's chin to force his head up.

Ludwig refused to meet Ivan's gaze at first, until Ivan suddenly whispered, "You really feel like the world ends when I'm gone?"

Ludwig once more blazed up red, and lifted his pale eyes up to meet Ivan's.

Ludwig didn't say it aloud, but it was very easy to see there on his face that he had meant it. Ivan smiled, prettily, calmly, eyes ever gentler when he reached out with his other hand to place it on Ludwig's waist.

Ludwig took a deep breath, turned himself towards Ivan in turn, and asked, as Ivan ever lifted his chin up, "I'm the universe, huh?"

Less stubborn and proud than Ludwig sentimentally, Ivan immediately nodded.

Ivan suddenly broke into a great, beaming smile, very charming and pretty, and pressed his forehead into Ludwig's.

Eduard nearly 'aww'ed.

Nearly.

Eduard looked back and forth between them, and said, "Ivan, do you think that you love Ludwig so much that sometimes you lash out at others because you're afraid of losing him?"

Ivan shifted, pursed his lips, and grumbled, "Yeah. I guess."

"And, Ludwig. Would you concede that you love Ivan so much that perhaps you're sometimes irrationally suspicious because you worry he'll find someone else?"

Ludwig, red-faced, just gave a curt nod.

Eduard smiled, feeling so close, and asked, "Ivan. Would you ever leave Ludwig for someone else?"

Ivan lifted his head, braced his legs, and said, very sternly, "No. Never. I married him for a reason. I'll love him forever. I don't want anyone else. I found what I wanted."

Ludwig glanced up at Ivan, lips parted and a bit mesmerized, and Eduard then asked, "Ludwig. Would you ever leave Ivan?"

A long squirm, a hesitation, before awkward Ludwig grumbled, "No. He's the only man I've ever loved."

Ivan looked flattered, elated, and reached out to grab Ludwig's hand.

Eduard felt hope.

"So, Ivan, do you think maybe you can let Ludwig and Gilbert continue to have their relationship without starting a fight?"

Compliantly, Ivan nodded.

"And can you consider allowing Ludwig to speak to other men without punching them in the face?"

At that, Ivan nodded much less happily, but the agreement was there all the same.

"Ludwig, can you let Natalia fuss over her brother without pitching a fit?"

Ludwig, face stern, nodded.

"And can you let Ivan play hero around town without assuming he's trying to cheat on you?"

Another nod, with pursed lips.

"Excellent!" Eduard cried, as he clapped a hand down on either of their shoulders. "We're coming along so nicely! I know it was very uncomfortable, but I think we've made a lot of good progress. So. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to go home, and tonight, I want you two to have a little house date, and make out a list of things that you love about the other. Alright? And then, whenever it's possible, I would really like for you two to go on a second honeymoon. Relieve some stress. Relax. Just enjoy being around each other, and try not to get jealous of anyone else. Can we do that?"

The two mules nodded.

The relief Eduard felt was intense.

"Good to hear! Take a few months. See how it goes. Go on that honeymoon. Send me some pictures. Alright? Don't hesitate to call if any issues come up, but I think we've finally come to an understanding for now."

They nodded again, smiling, and Eduard shooed them out, for hopefully the last time.

Ah...

Success tasted great.

Eduard waited a moment and then peered out of the window and down at the street, and smiled when he saw Ivan very suddenly bow at the waist, extend his hand, and when Ludwig took it, Ivan's kissed the top of Ludwig's hand very charmingly.

Ludwig smiled, Ivan straightened up, held out his arm, and Ludwig was very quick to take it. Ivan kissed Ludwig's cheek, and then they walked arm in arm down the street like schoolgirls. Eduard watched them go quite happily, chest puffed out and feeling exceptionally proud of himself.

Until Ludwig suddenly wrenched out of Ivan's arm and started shouting at him, as Ivan threw his arms in the air and stomped his foot.

Eduard rolled his eyes, and marched straight over to his door to flip the 'open' sign off.

No _way_.

He stealthily peered out again, waiting for Ludwig to come stalking back and bang on the door, but the situation was mercifully quelled when Ivan ran a palm over his eyes and muttered something. Huffy Ludwig pushed out his lips, and then seemed to slump. A short impasse, and then suddenly they were arm in arm again and walking on.

Oh, thank god! Couldn't handle those two anymore.

Eduard snorted, threw himself on his own couch, and stared up at the ceiling.

This was the only time Eduard could remember that he had wanted some damn therapy for giving someone therapy.

And more rum.


End file.
